I know exactly what you saw.
You saw what seemed like a mother distracted by her cell phone, ignoring the toddler tapping her leg asking her to "c'mere!" And you made a snap judgment about my mothering. And honestly, I probably would have had the same thought if I'd walked by someone else in my shoes. But I would have kept my judgmental thoughts inside my head.
You didn't.
"Oh my gosh. Just talk to your kid!"
I whipped my head around to see you, but you were gone. You could have been any of the handful of women walking away from me. I said "Seriously?" in your general direction, knowing full well that you had every right to question my ability to pay attention to my child.
Except that you didn't have every right. Because you don't know me at all. You decided to judge me based on the three seconds of my day you happened to witness. You decided you were seeing the whole story. Shockingly, you weren't.
What you didn't see is that my toddler had my full attention for the entire shopping trip until that point. You see, in his 2-year-old wisdom, he has deemed himself much too mature to ride in the cart, which puts me on full alert of his whereabouts down every aisle and around every turn. He has opinions about everything that we walk by, so our trip is a constant conversation about what we're buying and what we aren't.
What you didn't see is that I had to pick up a prescription at the pharmacy, all while watching my little guy test the limits, getting farther and farther away. Checking out all the fancy kids' toothpaste and telling me all the characters he sees. And finally finding a spot to sit on a bench near where I was.
What you didn't see is that the very helpful pharmacy tech asked if I would like to enroll in text message reminders for picking up my prescription each month. Since I had unsuccessfully attempted to enroll in this service last month, I decided to give it another try. He had me text a random automated number and follow the prompts. "Text the blue 7 digit Rx number on your bottle." Will came back over to me, pointing to where he wanted to go next. I told him he had to wait just a minute while I finished something. He went back to his bench. I continued the enrolling. "Please text your 4 digit year of birth." Will came back to plead with me again. "Just a second, buddy. I'm almost done." The automated texts kept coming. "Please text the 10 digit pharmacy phone # located on your Rx." Dear Lord, what a process. This better be worth it. I'm locating the phone number and making sure I enter it correctly when Will comes back, taps on my leg and begs for me to "c'mere!"
And that's when you walked by and decided I was a terrible mother for not paying attention to my child. And my heart stopped for half a beat. And I fought the tears stinging behind my eyes. I felt so misunderstood. So attacked. "Seriously?"
I finished enrolling, double checked with the pharmacy tech that I had done it correctly, and proceeded on with the rest of my shopping. By the grace of God, I had saved the pharmacy stop for last, so I just had to grab a couple more items and make it to the check-out lanes and then I could leave. I made it through the check-out process (but not without my dear boy reorganizing all of the snacks on the shelf while I unloaded my groceries and paid), made it to my car, and burst into tears. I texted my husband about you. About how you'd ruined my day. How you'd stolen my joy.
But then I drove home, and God calmly reminded me that no one, least of all a perfect stranger that knows nothing about me or my child, has the power to do that. You don't have the power to ruin my day. You don't have the power to steal my joy. In that moment of your snap judgment, I gave you far more power than you deserved.
So, don't mind me, but I'm taking it back.
For a few minutes, I believed what you thought about me. But it's not the truth. I know that I am a good mother. Heck, I'm a fantastic mother to three amazing children. I'm nurturing and helpful and compassionate. I listen and comfort and teach. My kids know that I love them. And that matters more than what you think you know.
So thanks for making me think. About the truth, about my kids, about myself and my own tendency to judge. But next time, stick around for the whole story. Maybe you could listen to my toddler's toothpaste reviews while I pay for my prescription.
Saturday, May 21, 2016
Thursday, May 19, 2016
One piece
My dad loves jigsaw puzzles. I didn't know this about him until a handful of years ago on vacation. Our family spends a week in a cabin on Lake Mille Lacs every summer, and this particular year, my dad found a cabinet full of games and puzzles and decided that we needed to put one of the puzzles together. And it's become a tradition--every year we complete a puzzle. (I use "we" pretty loosely. This photo is a little more accurate--it's pretty much just my dad and brother).
While jigsaw puzzles aren't necessarily on my list of relaxing vacation activities, I do find them fascinating. I love that I can reach into a box of puzzle pieces and pull one out and (without looking at the picture on the box) that one piece tells me absolutely nothing about what the final product is going to look like. It might be blue. I could guess that it's part of the sky or water or maybe a pick-up truck or someone's shirt. But I would only be guessing. The only thing that one piece tells me is that 1/1000th of that puzzle is blue.
One of the biggest gifts God gave me when Hannah died was the overwhelming peace and understanding that we were only seeing the tiniest part of a much bigger picture, and that He was the only one who could see the whole thing. I can actually picture where I was sitting in my midwife's office when this happened. We had found out Hannah was no longer alive, and we were scheduling induction for the next morning. We were devastated. Nothing was happening the way we thought it would. But in our grief, God was saying, "I know this doesn't make sense. But trust me."
A friend was in the hospital after Hannah was born and we got to talking about this idea that we all have a list of questions to ask God when we get to heaven. Why do bad things happen? Why do babies die? We want answers. We want things to make sense in our finite, limited human brains. And my friend said, "I think we're going to get to heaven, be face-to-face with our Creator and think, 'Well. I feel like I had something to ask you. But I don't think I do anymore.'" Because in that moment, everything will make sense. We will finally be seeing the whole picture. The completed puzzle. We will see all of our pieces and where they all fit together. Our questions will be answered before they're even asked.
Four and a half years later, my "Hannah died" puzzle piece isn't all alone anymore. It is surrounded by a few more pieces and sometimes I can tell they're starting to take shape. It's as if my single blue puzzle piece from earlier is now surrounded by other blue pieces and I can tell it's going to be a sailboat. The whole sailboat isn't put together yet, and I certainly don't know where the sailboat fits into the rest of the picture, but it's getting there.
And that's what grief looks like right now. I still hate that that piece has to be there, but my puzzle wouldn't be complete without it. And I'm called to trust the One who holds the rest of the pieces and knows where they all belong.
Saturday, February 27, 2016
Gallery Walls
When we moved into this house almost three years ago, I was very pregnant with Will and it was all I could do to just get sheets on beds and clothes in closets. I did eventually hang a few photos on the walls, but for the most part, I didn't care enough about decor to make my crazy pregnant self even crazier.
Fast forward to a couple of months ago. I decided to do some major purging throughout our house, and one area I had to tackle was a storage area downstairs. In that area, there were three boxes full of framed photos that had all been displayed in our old house. A good portion of the frames went to Goodwill, but I did keep quite a few to repurpose on some focus walls that I'd wanted to create.
One wall is in our living room. In the midst of the purging, we also rearranged a couple of pieces in this room, leaving an empty wall looking even more bleak. Enter gallery wall #1!
My favorite frame is the big collage one that holds square Instagram photos. We also used a few family photos that our friend Alissa took, as well as the kids' school pictures, a wedding photo, and the picture of Hannah's footprints. The printable on the lower left is available here on etsy, the ceramic cross was from Hobby Lobby, and I made the Minnesota piece.
Gallery wall #2 has been a while in the making. Almost five years ago, our family of four took a very memorable trip to Duluth and Dan got some awesome photos, including one of Jack, Leah, and me. For about a year, we've had that photo and one of the lighthouse in Canal Park above our bed. I loved having Dan's photography displayed, but they were small for the wall and their placement was definitely temporary. :) When we went to Duluth in November, we recreated the shot of me with the kids (since there are three of them now!) and he also got a great shot of the lift bridge. So now I knew I wanted to stick with the Duluth/Lake Superior theme for this wall. And I love the final product!
The three photos are all Dan's. Thanks, honey. ;)
This is one of my favorite pieces! It's a water color of Lake Superior and is available from The Big Lake on etsy. Please check out her shop (and her Instagram feed)--she has some really great stuff!
These were a really fun find. It was a pack of 18 vintage postcards from the North Shore. The shop is called Bursts of Creativity and they have all sorts of sweet vintage stuff. :)
This driftwood anchor was also an awesome find on etsy from Simple Beach Signs. And I made the sign next to it with a piece of wood from Michaels.
I love how much just having art on my walls makes this house feel more like home, even after almost three years of living here!
Also, if you're looking for gallery wall inspiration, Pinterest is your friend. :)
Fast forward to a couple of months ago. I decided to do some major purging throughout our house, and one area I had to tackle was a storage area downstairs. In that area, there were three boxes full of framed photos that had all been displayed in our old house. A good portion of the frames went to Goodwill, but I did keep quite a few to repurpose on some focus walls that I'd wanted to create.
One wall is in our living room. In the midst of the purging, we also rearranged a couple of pieces in this room, leaving an empty wall looking even more bleak. Enter gallery wall #1!
Gallery wall #2 has been a while in the making. Almost five years ago, our family of four took a very memorable trip to Duluth and Dan got some awesome photos, including one of Jack, Leah, and me. For about a year, we've had that photo and one of the lighthouse in Canal Park above our bed. I loved having Dan's photography displayed, but they were small for the wall and their placement was definitely temporary. :) When we went to Duluth in November, we recreated the shot of me with the kids (since there are three of them now!) and he also got a great shot of the lift bridge. So now I knew I wanted to stick with the Duluth/Lake Superior theme for this wall. And I love the final product!
This is one of my favorite pieces! It's a water color of Lake Superior and is available from The Big Lake on etsy. Please check out her shop (and her Instagram feed)--she has some really great stuff!
These were a really fun find. It was a pack of 18 vintage postcards from the North Shore. The shop is called Bursts of Creativity and they have all sorts of sweet vintage stuff. :)
This driftwood anchor was also an awesome find on etsy from Simple Beach Signs. And I made the sign next to it with a piece of wood from Michaels.
I love how much just having art on my walls makes this house feel more like home, even after almost three years of living here!
Also, if you're looking for gallery wall inspiration, Pinterest is your friend. :)
Saturday, December 20, 2014
A grieving sibling
I had a very sweet moment with Leah last week. I was upstairs finishing cleaning up the kitchen and Jack and Dan were also upstairs doing something on the computer. I knew Leah had gone downstairs, and we were all planning on watching a movie, so I just assumed she was getting things ready. I had to bring something downstairs, and I came down to find her sitting in our big recliner with Hannah's scrapbook open in her lap and she was sobbing. I scooped her up and sobbed with her for a while. I said "can you tell me what's making you sad right now?" She said "Hannah was so small and she died." And she kept saying over and over, "I wish that never happened."
She was just so sweet and it breaks my heart that she will never have a sister here. She was so little--not quite 2 1/2--she never really grieved. But three years later, she's obviously much more aware of things now. It's very interesting to walk through that with her now.
She was just so sweet and it breaks my heart that she will never have a sister here. She was so little--not quite 2 1/2--she never really grieved. But three years later, she's obviously much more aware of things now. It's very interesting to walk through that with her now.
Wednesday, November 05, 2014
three
My sweet Hannah should be turning three today.
But she's not. And while that reality hurts, the pain has changed. It's not the despairing pain that we felt in the first days and weeks after her death. It's not even the lingering pain that followed us that first year as we navigated life after two losses.
Last week, I realized it was October 30th, which was the last day I remember feeling Hannah really kick me. And it hit me--this will never NOT hurt. There will always be something painful about this loss. This little life should be a part of our family. Life goes on and most days are filled with hope and joy.
This year in BSF, we are studying the life of Moses and we were talking yesterday about what we are most thankful for about what God has taught us so far this year. And most notably, I am beyond grateful for God's faithfulness. It's amazing to read and study about how God was faithful to Moses and the Israelites and then look at my own life and know without a doubt that he is that same faithful God today. We haven't just survived the last three years. God has carried us so amazingly through it all and has used it as an opportunity for us to grow and to lean on Him.
I love you, my beautiful girl! Can't wait for the day I can hold you again.
But she's not. And while that reality hurts, the pain has changed. It's not the despairing pain that we felt in the first days and weeks after her death. It's not even the lingering pain that followed us that first year as we navigated life after two losses.
Last week, I realized it was October 30th, which was the last day I remember feeling Hannah really kick me. And it hit me--this will never NOT hurt. There will always be something painful about this loss. This little life should be a part of our family. Life goes on and most days are filled with hope and joy.
This year in BSF, we are studying the life of Moses and we were talking yesterday about what we are most thankful for about what God has taught us so far this year. And most notably, I am beyond grateful for God's faithfulness. It's amazing to read and study about how God was faithful to Moses and the Israelites and then look at my own life and know without a doubt that he is that same faithful God today. We haven't just survived the last three years. God has carried us so amazingly through it all and has used it as an opportunity for us to grow and to lean on Him.
I love you, my beautiful girl! Can't wait for the day I can hold you again.
Tuesday, September 30, 2014
one year
My dearest Will,
One whole year.
One year ago, I had no idea how much love my heart could hold.
One year ago, I didn't know the joy that awaited us.
One year ago, I laid eyes on you for the first time and fell head-over-heels in love.
Frankly, I'm not sure how it's already been a year. It feels like just last week we were heading to the hospital on an unseasonably warm September morning, assuming we'd be there all day and night waiting on you. But you blessed us with your presence a mere two hours after we got into our room. What a lovely surprise!
Your laugh is infectious. Your cheeks are practically edible. You are just all-over squeezable and delicious. Seriously, I could just sit and kiss you all day long. You might object. But I might try.
I can't even describe how you've completed our family. It's a crazy thing, actually. When I look at the way WE thought things would go, you never actually should have been a part of us. We would have been done at Hannah. And then we would have been done at Charlie. So to have you in our lives is beyond a gift. And as much as it looks to us like you never should have been here, God has always known you'd be the baby to complete our family. He has had plans for you since before creation. Big plans. Good plans. And lucky for us, plans that included life on earth with us.
One of my greatest joys is watching your big brother and sister love you. They waited a long time to have a little sibling! And the excitement they had when they came to the hospital one year ago has not waned. They still simply adore you! They love to see you when you wake up in the morning. They love to play with you when they get home from school. They want to hold you and feed you and read to you and lay with you. You're a lucky little brother. :)
Thank you. Thank you for being you and being ours. I love you to the moon and back and can't wait to see what this next year has in store.
Love,
Mama
Video of Will's first year:
https://vimeo.com/107465534
One whole year.
One year ago, I had no idea how much love my heart could hold.
One year ago, I didn't know the joy that awaited us.
One year ago, I laid eyes on you for the first time and fell head-over-heels in love.
Frankly, I'm not sure how it's already been a year. It feels like just last week we were heading to the hospital on an unseasonably warm September morning, assuming we'd be there all day and night waiting on you. But you blessed us with your presence a mere two hours after we got into our room. What a lovely surprise!
Your laugh is infectious. Your cheeks are practically edible. You are just all-over squeezable and delicious. Seriously, I could just sit and kiss you all day long. You might object. But I might try.
I can't even describe how you've completed our family. It's a crazy thing, actually. When I look at the way WE thought things would go, you never actually should have been a part of us. We would have been done at Hannah. And then we would have been done at Charlie. So to have you in our lives is beyond a gift. And as much as it looks to us like you never should have been here, God has always known you'd be the baby to complete our family. He has had plans for you since before creation. Big plans. Good plans. And lucky for us, plans that included life on earth with us.
One of my greatest joys is watching your big brother and sister love you. They waited a long time to have a little sibling! And the excitement they had when they came to the hospital one year ago has not waned. They still simply adore you! They love to see you when you wake up in the morning. They love to play with you when they get home from school. They want to hold you and feed you and read to you and lay with you. You're a lucky little brother. :)
Thank you. Thank you for being you and being ours. I love you to the moon and back and can't wait to see what this next year has in store.
Love,
Mama
Video of Will's first year:
https://vimeo.com/107465534
Sunday, July 20, 2014
12 years
I officially rang in our 12th anniversary by waking up my snoring husband at 2:00am to let him know he'd forgotten to put on his cpap mask.
Romantic, right? ;)
Ah, how things change in 12 years. I remember celebrating our dating anniversary every month. We also celebrated every 100 emails (a pretty big deal in the pre-texting, pre-Facebook world we lived in) all the way to 2,000-something. Lots of flowers, lots of gifts. We even had a big fancy date on our 1-month wedding anniversary. Ha! Now we sneak out for a couple hours of drinks and appetizers and tell each other to please not waste money on a card. :)
Would I go back and change how we did things?
Not for a second. I love how we celebrated each other then. I love the things that were important to us. I love that I have stacks of greeting cards from those "young love" days. I love that the couple in that photo had no idea what awaited them, but they were in it together regardless of what came their way.
I also love where we are now. I love how the years have changed us. I love that we have three littles to share this day with.
It's also so great that in the grand scheme of things, 12 years is just a drop in the bucket. We look back on the first chapter of our marriage and marvel and how things have changed and how much we thought we knew back then. But I know that in 12 more years, we'll look back at this point in our marriage and think the same thing.
So my dear, happy anniversary. We've got a good thing going. Here's to the next 12 years, and another 12 years, and 12 more after that. Love you.
Tuesday, June 10, 2014
two years
The other night we were at a friend's house for a birthday party and someone mentioned that the Belmont Stakes horse race was going to be on that evening. Isn't it crazy how the smallest thing can trigger grief? All of a sudden I was transported back to the evening of the Belmont Stakes in 2012. I was pregnant with Charlie and had started spotting. I was unable to get a hold of my parents for the longest time because they were having a Belmont Stakes dinner party on their deck. That stinking horse race will forever be linked to my miscarriage.
Two years ago began the darkest few months of my life. You'd assume my darkest days came after Hannah was stillborn. And we definitely had really hard days. And weeks. And months. But there was still hope somehow. We knew we'd make it through and that God could somehow use tragedy to restore things. But miscarrying Charlie was a whole different monster. Our grief was compounded. Having a baby after a loss should have been so redeeming. Instead we experienced such a whirlwind of hurt. It's hard enough to live in a world where one of your babies has died. Now I had lost two. Half of my children were not part of my family on this earth.
Emotionally, I was a wreck. I was still grieving Hannah and had spent 14 weeks trying to survive the most nerve-wracking pregnancy-after-a-loss experience ever. And then it was over and I had another baby to mourn. Not to mention how traumatized I was after the experience itself. I was completely unprepared for things to happen naturally before I could even see my midwife. I was not prepared for any of it--the contractions, the blood, nothing. Afterwards, I could hardly bear to look at pregnant women or babies. What had I done to warrant going through this twice, when so many people just floated along through life without ever having to experience such loss?
Physically, I was sure I was broken. After Hannah, I could tell myself that it wasn't my fault. It was a fluke. I couldn't have done anything to prevent it. But then it happened again, and I wasn't so sure. There had to have been a reason my body was losing these precious lives. The two losses had to be connected somehow. I had very little respect for my body--it couldn't do anything right. Maybe Jack and Leah were my flukes and I'd never carry a live baby to term again.
Spiritually, I was confused. I never doubted that God was with us and I don't feel like my faith was necessarily tested. And I knew that I needed to hang onto the same Jesus who had carried us through Hannah's death if I had any chance of surviving Charlie's. I thought of the line from "Held": "To think that providence would take a child from his mother while she prays is appalling." I guess I was rather appalled. I spent nearly every moment of the 14 weeks I was pregnant with Charlie so sure that something was going to go wrong, but then when it DID, I was still shocked.
My status as wife and mother were marred. My marriage was in the rockiest season it had ever seen in its 10 years. Some of it was loss related. Some of it was just horrible timing because it added to the mess of that summer. My children had to deal with the fraction of me that I had the energy to give them. It was never enough and I hate that I missed even the smallest parts of their growing up years. It was such a fine line between being grateful for the kids I was blessed with on this earth and being angry that I wasn't allowed to mother the two that were waiting for me in heaven.
Eventually, by the grace of God, the fog began to lift. I distinctly remember going for a walk on a really beautiful day in September and thinking, "Life is still good." I felt like I could breathe again. Hope slowly came back into the picture.
Steven Curtis Chapman's album Beauty Will Rise has been extremely healing, as it is the first album he released after the loss of his daughter Maria. The song of the same title in particular speaks so beautifully to the transformation that happened two years ago. It's SO hard to see anything beautiful in the midst of the ashes. But when you look back, you can see that those ashes were not, indeed, the end. God has so much more for us after the hard stuff. I love the line, "We will dance among the ruins." The ruins don't go away. We just change how we deal with them. I will never stop missing Hannah and Charlie. But we are not held down by the grief that sidelined us. He continues to carry us through it. And I think the beauty we can see now is more amazing because of the ashes we've endured.
Two years ago began the darkest few months of my life. You'd assume my darkest days came after Hannah was stillborn. And we definitely had really hard days. And weeks. And months. But there was still hope somehow. We knew we'd make it through and that God could somehow use tragedy to restore things. But miscarrying Charlie was a whole different monster. Our grief was compounded. Having a baby after a loss should have been so redeeming. Instead we experienced such a whirlwind of hurt. It's hard enough to live in a world where one of your babies has died. Now I had lost two. Half of my children were not part of my family on this earth.
Emotionally, I was a wreck. I was still grieving Hannah and had spent 14 weeks trying to survive the most nerve-wracking pregnancy-after-a-loss experience ever. And then it was over and I had another baby to mourn. Not to mention how traumatized I was after the experience itself. I was completely unprepared for things to happen naturally before I could even see my midwife. I was not prepared for any of it--the contractions, the blood, nothing. Afterwards, I could hardly bear to look at pregnant women or babies. What had I done to warrant going through this twice, when so many people just floated along through life without ever having to experience such loss?
Physically, I was sure I was broken. After Hannah, I could tell myself that it wasn't my fault. It was a fluke. I couldn't have done anything to prevent it. But then it happened again, and I wasn't so sure. There had to have been a reason my body was losing these precious lives. The two losses had to be connected somehow. I had very little respect for my body--it couldn't do anything right. Maybe Jack and Leah were my flukes and I'd never carry a live baby to term again.
Spiritually, I was confused. I never doubted that God was with us and I don't feel like my faith was necessarily tested. And I knew that I needed to hang onto the same Jesus who had carried us through Hannah's death if I had any chance of surviving Charlie's. I thought of the line from "Held": "To think that providence would take a child from his mother while she prays is appalling." I guess I was rather appalled. I spent nearly every moment of the 14 weeks I was pregnant with Charlie so sure that something was going to go wrong, but then when it DID, I was still shocked.
My status as wife and mother were marred. My marriage was in the rockiest season it had ever seen in its 10 years. Some of it was loss related. Some of it was just horrible timing because it added to the mess of that summer. My children had to deal with the fraction of me that I had the energy to give them. It was never enough and I hate that I missed even the smallest parts of their growing up years. It was such a fine line between being grateful for the kids I was blessed with on this earth and being angry that I wasn't allowed to mother the two that were waiting for me in heaven.
Eventually, by the grace of God, the fog began to lift. I distinctly remember going for a walk on a really beautiful day in September and thinking, "Life is still good." I felt like I could breathe again. Hope slowly came back into the picture.
Steven Curtis Chapman's album Beauty Will Rise has been extremely healing, as it is the first album he released after the loss of his daughter Maria. The song of the same title in particular speaks so beautifully to the transformation that happened two years ago. It's SO hard to see anything beautiful in the midst of the ashes. But when you look back, you can see that those ashes were not, indeed, the end. God has so much more for us after the hard stuff. I love the line, "We will dance among the ruins." The ruins don't go away. We just change how we deal with them. I will never stop missing Hannah and Charlie. But we are not held down by the grief that sidelined us. He continues to carry us through it. And I think the beauty we can see now is more amazing because of the ashes we've endured.
Tuesday, April 15, 2014
6 months
Hi sweet boy!
You turned six months a couple of weeks ago. You've already been with us for over half of a year?! Insane. Beautifully insane, but still--time flies.
The other day you were bouncing away in your little activity center and Jackson decided to play peek-a-boo with you. And you laughed and laughed and laughed! Jack continued to do silly things and you continued to crack up. It was such a beautiful sight and sound! Your personality is totally starting to shine and it's so fun to feel like we're getting to know you better. You're interacting more and becoming increasingly aware of your surroundings.
The last few weeks, you've been sleeping so well--like a good 10-hour stretch before you wake up to eat. Bravo, young man--that's not something Jack or Leah did until they were almost a year old! It's things like this that make it obvious how much you're growing up! That and seeing pictures from when you were brand new. ;)
You're eating real food, and it's so much fun. You love trying new things and making big messes. And since we're doing Baby-led Weaning instead of spoon-feeding, you're trying a much bigger variety of food than Jack and Leah ever did this early. You've had chicken, apple, avocado, banana, pork tenderloin, quesadilla, red pepper, cucumber, celery, toast, pancake, and more. I love watching your face when something new makes it to your mouth.
Jack and Leah continue to simply adore you. You are the first person Jack wants to see when he comes home from school. :) It will be fun when he's home for the summer and can see you all day long! Speaking of summer, we're dying for some warmer weather. We've been teased a few times, and you love being outside. Can't wait until we can do that more often! You know, until it's too hot. ;)
I love you, my delicious little man! Can't wait to see what the rest of this first year, and beyond, holds in store. Thanks for making our days so fun and for being a light in our lives!
Love,
Mom
You turned six months a couple of weeks ago. You've already been with us for over half of a year?! Insane. Beautifully insane, but still--time flies.
The other day you were bouncing away in your little activity center and Jackson decided to play peek-a-boo with you. And you laughed and laughed and laughed! Jack continued to do silly things and you continued to crack up. It was such a beautiful sight and sound! Your personality is totally starting to shine and it's so fun to feel like we're getting to know you better. You're interacting more and becoming increasingly aware of your surroundings.
The last few weeks, you've been sleeping so well--like a good 10-hour stretch before you wake up to eat. Bravo, young man--that's not something Jack or Leah did until they were almost a year old! It's things like this that make it obvious how much you're growing up! That and seeing pictures from when you were brand new. ;)
You're eating real food, and it's so much fun. You love trying new things and making big messes. And since we're doing Baby-led Weaning instead of spoon-feeding, you're trying a much bigger variety of food than Jack and Leah ever did this early. You've had chicken, apple, avocado, banana, pork tenderloin, quesadilla, red pepper, cucumber, celery, toast, pancake, and more. I love watching your face when something new makes it to your mouth.
Jack and Leah continue to simply adore you. You are the first person Jack wants to see when he comes home from school. :) It will be fun when he's home for the summer and can see you all day long! Speaking of summer, we're dying for some warmer weather. We've been teased a few times, and you love being outside. Can't wait until we can do that more often! You know, until it's too hot. ;)
I love you, my delicious little man! Can't wait to see what the rest of this first year, and beyond, holds in store. Thanks for making our days so fun and for being a light in our lives!
Love,
Mom
Thursday, March 27, 2014
Seasons of Hannah
I was talking to a friend a couple of weeks ago and told her that I am feeling very distinct seasons of grief around Hannah. Although I always miss her and wish she were here, there are some seasons when I can be grateful for the journey and for what God has done through her little life. And we really have found joy through the pain. But sometimes I'm in a season of anger and sadness, and I think that's where I am these days.
I am angry that she'll never be a physical part of our family. I hate that our family will never feel complete to me. We knew we were done having babies after Will and I was okay with that until he got here. Now it's so hard for me to know that we're done. But I also know that ten more babies wouldn't make me feel done either. There are babies who aren't here. They will always be missing.
I am sad that I'll never get to hold her and kiss her and make her smile. Having Will is such a huge blessing, but it has also made me hyper-aware of everything we have missed with the babies we lost. And that's so frustrating and unfair.
The logical part of me can identify the things that we wouldn't have if Hannah hadn't died, and I know deep down that I am truly grateful for it all--fellow babyloss friends, a different outlook on life and parenting, a stronger relationship with my husband and children, and sweet baby Will. But when the logical part of me loses to the emotional part, I think, "I don't CARE! I want HANNAH!"
Hannah should be two. I can remember what two was like with Jack and Leah. And I see two around me all the time in children who were born around the same time Hannah should have been. I can very clearly imagine what Hannah would be like right now. I can picture the hand-me-downs she'd be wearing. I can picture the Elmo cake I'd likely have made for her birthday party.
I know this will all be redeemed someday in eternity. And for now I have to trust the One who redeems things even while we're still here.
I am angry that she'll never be a physical part of our family. I hate that our family will never feel complete to me. We knew we were done having babies after Will and I was okay with that until he got here. Now it's so hard for me to know that we're done. But I also know that ten more babies wouldn't make me feel done either. There are babies who aren't here. They will always be missing.
I am sad that I'll never get to hold her and kiss her and make her smile. Having Will is such a huge blessing, but it has also made me hyper-aware of everything we have missed with the babies we lost. And that's so frustrating and unfair.
The logical part of me can identify the things that we wouldn't have if Hannah hadn't died, and I know deep down that I am truly grateful for it all--fellow babyloss friends, a different outlook on life and parenting, a stronger relationship with my husband and children, and sweet baby Will. But when the logical part of me loses to the emotional part, I think, "I don't CARE! I want HANNAH!"
Hannah should be two. I can remember what two was like with Jack and Leah. And I see two around me all the time in children who were born around the same time Hannah should have been. I can very clearly imagine what Hannah would be like right now. I can picture the hand-me-downs she'd be wearing. I can picture the Elmo cake I'd likely have made for her birthday party.
I know this will all be redeemed someday in eternity. And for now I have to trust the One who redeems things even while we're still here.
Monday, January 13, 2014
3.5 months
Dear Will,
Well, shoot. I'm debating whether or not I should tell you that Jack and Leah both got letters every month, starting with their due dates. I could just let you believe that 3 1/2 months is a perfectly acceptable time to receive your first "letter from mom." I mean, you're the third baby. You might just have to get used to this kind of thing.
The truth is, you've pretty much turned our world upside down. In a really great way, of course. In fact, you're by far our easiest baby (don't tell your siblings). But the last 3 1/2 months have been full of every emotion possible, and the time has flown by.
I often say that I could write a very long list of ways you are different from Jack and Leah, and it really started with your arrival. Your brother and sister decided to enter the world "fashionably late." So when I received a due date of October 2, I knew we'd probably meet you closer to the middle of the month. But BAM! Contractions started on September 29th and you flew into the world on the 30th, a whole TWO DAYS before you were "supposed to." And that "flying into the world"? Second way you're different from your sibs. They took their SWEET time coming out to meet us, allowing me to labor for 30 and 28 hours. You? A respectable 11 hours, thank you very much. So appreciative, little guy. Really.
Also, you were the littlest of my living babies, at a petite 9lb 3oz. :) But you STAYED little for so much longer, which was actually kind of sweet. It was as if God knew that we needed to enjoy this newborn phase a little extra long since you're likely our last baby. But really, your "littleness" was a bit of a concern for a few weeks. In the few days after you were born, you lost a little more weight than they like to see (1 full pound, or 11% of your body weight), and you were kind of slow to put it back on (whereas Jack and Leah were back above their birth weights at their one-week appointments, you took a full month to get there). But we eventually figured everything out and you started gaining appropriately. And your length was never in jeopardy, that's for sure! At your two-month appointment, you were in the 38th percentile for weight and the 86th percentile for length. Not surprising. :)
There are many more differences, but you're still a typical baby in many, many ways. You sleep....like a baby. But it's great, actually. I am often reminded in the middle of the night that this will be the last baby that we "get" to do this with. And God has a special little measure of grace for sleep-deprived moms, so it's all good. And you are absolutely delightful when you are awake. Lots of smiles and giggles and "talking." Jack and Leah adore giving you hugs and kisses and holding you. You're a very lucky boy!
As you'll likely hear about as you grow up, this has been a long few years for our family. In fact, I did the math, and by the time you were born, I had been pregnant for 20 of the previous 29 months. Ha! Enjoying this non-pregnant state even more now. :) You will grow up hearing about a brother and sister that came before you. Babies that paved the way for you to have a place in our family. We wanted those babies, but God had different plans. He knew that YOU were the one that would complete us. You are such an amazing gift, Will. I can't imagine having anyone else sleeping on my chest right now.
The other day in the car, we were talking about something that happened over a year ago. Leah was confused and thought it had happened more recently. I said, "No, that was last year--Ava was a baby and Will wasn't born yet." Jack said, "Mom! Don't say that out loud!" I said, "Why? He wasn't born yet. I wasn't even pregnant with him yet." He said, "Will has always been a part of our family!" So true. You've always belonged.
Love you to the moon, sweet boy! Thanks for being ours.
And let's see how long it takes for me to write your next letter....
Love,
Mom
Well, shoot. I'm debating whether or not I should tell you that Jack and Leah both got letters every month, starting with their due dates. I could just let you believe that 3 1/2 months is a perfectly acceptable time to receive your first "letter from mom." I mean, you're the third baby. You might just have to get used to this kind of thing.
The truth is, you've pretty much turned our world upside down. In a really great way, of course. In fact, you're by far our easiest baby (don't tell your siblings). But the last 3 1/2 months have been full of every emotion possible, and the time has flown by.
I often say that I could write a very long list of ways you are different from Jack and Leah, and it really started with your arrival. Your brother and sister decided to enter the world "fashionably late." So when I received a due date of October 2, I knew we'd probably meet you closer to the middle of the month. But BAM! Contractions started on September 29th and you flew into the world on the 30th, a whole TWO DAYS before you were "supposed to." And that "flying into the world"? Second way you're different from your sibs. They took their SWEET time coming out to meet us, allowing me to labor for 30 and 28 hours. You? A respectable 11 hours, thank you very much. So appreciative, little guy. Really.
Also, you were the littlest of my living babies, at a petite 9lb 3oz. :) But you STAYED little for so much longer, which was actually kind of sweet. It was as if God knew that we needed to enjoy this newborn phase a little extra long since you're likely our last baby. But really, your "littleness" was a bit of a concern for a few weeks. In the few days after you were born, you lost a little more weight than they like to see (1 full pound, or 11% of your body weight), and you were kind of slow to put it back on (whereas Jack and Leah were back above their birth weights at their one-week appointments, you took a full month to get there). But we eventually figured everything out and you started gaining appropriately. And your length was never in jeopardy, that's for sure! At your two-month appointment, you were in the 38th percentile for weight and the 86th percentile for length. Not surprising. :)
There are many more differences, but you're still a typical baby in many, many ways. You sleep....like a baby. But it's great, actually. I am often reminded in the middle of the night that this will be the last baby that we "get" to do this with. And God has a special little measure of grace for sleep-deprived moms, so it's all good. And you are absolutely delightful when you are awake. Lots of smiles and giggles and "talking." Jack and Leah adore giving you hugs and kisses and holding you. You're a very lucky boy!
As you'll likely hear about as you grow up, this has been a long few years for our family. In fact, I did the math, and by the time you were born, I had been pregnant for 20 of the previous 29 months. Ha! Enjoying this non-pregnant state even more now. :) You will grow up hearing about a brother and sister that came before you. Babies that paved the way for you to have a place in our family. We wanted those babies, but God had different plans. He knew that YOU were the one that would complete us. You are such an amazing gift, Will. I can't imagine having anyone else sleeping on my chest right now.
The other day in the car, we were talking about something that happened over a year ago. Leah was confused and thought it had happened more recently. I said, "No, that was last year--Ava was a baby and Will wasn't born yet." Jack said, "Mom! Don't say that out loud!" I said, "Why? He wasn't born yet. I wasn't even pregnant with him yet." He said, "Will has always been a part of our family!" So true. You've always belonged.
Love you to the moon, sweet boy! Thanks for being ours.
And let's see how long it takes for me to write your next letter....
Love,
Mom
Monday, October 07, 2013
Welcome, Baby Will!
I'm sitting here on my due date. Ever since we found out that another baby would be joining our family, we've looked forward to October 2nd. But we also assumed that we'd go past that date, since both Jack and Leah were born after 40 weeks. So imagine how delighted I am to be sitting here with my baby sleeping right next to me! Sweet baby boy decided to join us a couple of days early. This is his story.
I woke up at 2:30 in the morning on Sunday, September 29th with some sporadic contractions. I had actually gone to bed noticing them, but I was able to sleep through them for a couple of hours. I was awake from 2:30 until 5:00 and they went from 10 minutes apart to nearly nothing, so I went back to bed until the kids woke up around 7:00. We laid low all day Sunday, having contractions once in a while. By the end of the day, I was beginning to think we had another long labor ahead of us. I labored with Jack for 30 hours and with Leah for 28. I had really hoped to cut it down considerably this time. :)
I went to bed on Sunday night, again having some contractions that were manageable enough to sleep through for a little bit. By around 1:00 am, they were strong enough to keep me up. So I sat on my big exercise ball and listened to music and timed contractions. I'd had a feeling that things might pick up overnight, so I'd told Dan he should probably sleep downstairs so I didn't have to keep things quiet or dark. Contractions slowly progressed from 8 minutes apart to 5 minutes to 3 minutes. I knew they'd get stronger, but I was surprised at their frequency. I had been in contact with my midwife Kathrine for a couple of hours, and I woke Dan up at around 4:30 to help me. After an hour or so, we decided that we needed to make a decision about going to the hospital because if we missed a certain window of time, we'd wind up in about an hour of morning rush hour traffic. No thanks! So my dad came over to be with Jack and Leah and we left for the hospital at about 6:00 am.
We got to the hospital and checked in at the triage desk. A nurse hooked me up to the monitors for a little while and Kathrine checked me. I was at 3 cm and she could tell that the baby was still pretty high and needed to rotate a little bit in order to help me dilate more. I was a little bit discouraged at the number, and again was convinced that this meant another marathon labor ahead of me. Dan, Kathrine, and I walked around the hospital for a little bit to try to get things moving. Contractions had slowed down considerably since we'd left the house.
Once we were back from walking, I got back on the monitors for a few minutes and we chatted with Kathrine about what to do next. Since I wasn't progressing very quickly and I was at risk of getting over-exhausted before it was time for the real show to start, she suggested maybe going back home to rest (with a prescription for a stronger antihistamine to help me sleep). I knew this was a possibility, but I was also a little discouraged. But I was exhausted and knew that resting would be good. Before we did anything, she said, "Let me check you one more time." So she did and while she was, she said, "Hang on, I'm going to strip your membranes." So she did that and said, "Before I send you home, I want you to walk around for 30 minutes and come back here and we'll talk." So Dan and I left again and headed to get some breakfast. It was immediately evident that the membrane stripping (just the process of separating the bag of waters from the cervix--my waters were still in tact) definitely ramped up the contractions. I had three before we even left the building (we were headed to get breakfast in one of the Children's Hospital buildings), and I could hardly sit or eat without having to stop and focus on a contraction. After about a half hour, we headed back to my midwife. It was about 9:00 am at this point.
I again spent a little time on the monitors and Kathrine checked me. She said, "Okay, I'm happy with this. He's definitely starting to drop more. Let's see if we can get you in a room." I asked what my dilation was. "The number isn't important." I told her she sucked. :) But YAY, I was getting in a room and not going home!
We got into our room around 9:45. At 37 weeks, I had tested positive for Group B Strep. It doesn't mean much to carry it, but it's something that can be transmitted to the baby during delivery, so I had to have a round of IV antibiotics during labor. If things could be predicted well enough, they'd do the round of antibiotics exactly four hours before delivery. Unfortunately, we had no idea when he'd come. So they did the first round at 10:00 am and made plans to do a second round at 2:00 pm. My doula/photographer/cousin Renee came shortly after my first round of antibiotics were done. I continued to labor through extremely strong contractions. At one point I asked one of my nurses what my last dilation had been. She said 3-4 cm. I was surprised that was enough of a change to get us into a room, but pleased that it was better than nothing. But still--these felt like 7-8 cm contractions, NOT 3-4 cm contractions. That made me nervous.
After laboring for another hour or so, Kathrine checked me again. She said, "Oh, this is perfect. You're completely thinned out and soft, and he has rotated and dropped. Wonderful. Let's get in the tub!" I said, "Seriously? What am I dilated to?" She said, "The number doesn't matter. Let's get in the tub!" I told her she sucked again. :) As the tub was filling and the room was being transformed into "go time" mode, I overheard the nurses talking. They happen to need the actual numbers for my chart, and I heard them say something about 5-6. I thought, "Centimeters? There's no way I should be getting in the tub at only 5-6 cm." I know that sometimes the water can slow down labor, and that's really the last thing I wanted. But deep down, I would trust Kathrine with my life, so I trusted that she thought it was a good time to get in.
I got into the birth tub at around 11:35. The water felt amazing. The contractions didn't feel very different to me versus how they felt out of the water, but I could tell that the water helped me relax way more during the time between contractions. After being in the tub for about fifteen minutes, and during a particularly strong contraction, I said, "Um, urge to push! That can't be good!" In my head, I was still only 5-6 cm and I knew that if I felt the urge to push before I was completely dilated, I was going to have to fight that urge or risk making my cervix swell. Kathrine said, "That's fine--just go with it. Trust your body." So I let my body push involuntarily with the next couple of contractions. Before I knew it, his head was right there. And my bag of waters was still intact, which was amazing. I pushed out his head with one contraction and the water broke at that point. The rest of him came in one more push. (After Kathrine untangled the cord from around his neck--a nuchal cord is what took Hannah's life and I was fearful of seeing it again, even though it can happen and not be an issue at all). It was the most incredible feeling in the WORLD. I immediately pulled him up on me, and according to the photos that my cousin took, I started crying and stopped sometime a couple hours later. :) He was a little blue, which is common for water birth babies, since their head is still under water while their body is being born. And since the water had literally JUST broken, he had the amniotic sac stuck to his body. It was so crazy. (The fact that my water didn't break until his head was born was also good news on the Group B Strep front. They wanted the antibiotics in my system for at least four hours. We only got two. But Will never actually came in contact with the birth canal--he had the bag protecting him the whole time!)
William Joseph Bennett was born at 12:03 pm. I had gone from 5-6 cm to 10 cm in less than 20 minutes. And he was born about 10 minutes after I had the urge to push. From when I consider active labor started, he came in a reasonable 11 hours. Thankful he didn't follow in his siblings' footsteps on that one. :)
Once the umbilical cord had stopped pulsing, it was clamped for Dan to cut. We were separated and Dan was able to have some skin-to-skin time with Will while I got out of the tub to deliver the placenta. And while our experience up until this point was so ideal and amazing, the next 24 hours were a bit of a doozy. I ended up bleeding a little more than they would have liked, which made for a very "medical" postpartum recovery period. All in all, I lost about 2 1/2 liters of blood, but I luckily never needed an infusion.
Shortly after I delivered the placenta, Kathrine brought it over to me and said, "I need to show you something." She pointed out the cord going into the placenta and said, "This is what's called a Velamentous Cord Insertion." Basically, instead of the cord going INTO the placenta, it just attaches to the outside. (I had heard of it before because it's one of the issues they found with Grace, of The Missing Grace Foundation, after she was stillborn). It's (obviously) not always life-threatening, but it is concerning and it's something that should have been caught in an ultrasound. Kathrine said, "Let's just say this little guy had a guardian angel, and I think we both know who it was." And we cried. I looked up some more information about it when we were in our room later. When a VCI is caught via ultrasound, they will often induce labor early to avoid the chance that the placenta and cord will detach from each other. There are also often complications if a labor goes on too long. So what I got from that was that God clearly had his hand on this baby, and the fact that I went into labor on my own before 40 weeks and had a considerably shorter labor than my first two babies was not at all a coincidence. I was also initially frustrated that it hadn't been caught, but I after thinking about it, I believe that God was protecting me from knowing about it. It would have been one more anxiety-producing contribution to this pregnancy. It was as if he said, "Will is going to be fine. There's no reason to make Erin worry about one more thing."
All in all, this whole experience was very healing. No, it doesn't mean that we're that much more "over" losing Hannah or Charlie. But we have safely welcomed a rainbow baby into our family, and we couldn't be more thrilled to have him here!
I woke up at 2:30 in the morning on Sunday, September 29th with some sporadic contractions. I had actually gone to bed noticing them, but I was able to sleep through them for a couple of hours. I was awake from 2:30 until 5:00 and they went from 10 minutes apart to nearly nothing, so I went back to bed until the kids woke up around 7:00. We laid low all day Sunday, having contractions once in a while. By the end of the day, I was beginning to think we had another long labor ahead of us. I labored with Jack for 30 hours and with Leah for 28. I had really hoped to cut it down considerably this time. :)
I went to bed on Sunday night, again having some contractions that were manageable enough to sleep through for a little bit. By around 1:00 am, they were strong enough to keep me up. So I sat on my big exercise ball and listened to music and timed contractions. I'd had a feeling that things might pick up overnight, so I'd told Dan he should probably sleep downstairs so I didn't have to keep things quiet or dark. Contractions slowly progressed from 8 minutes apart to 5 minutes to 3 minutes. I knew they'd get stronger, but I was surprised at their frequency. I had been in contact with my midwife Kathrine for a couple of hours, and I woke Dan up at around 4:30 to help me. After an hour or so, we decided that we needed to make a decision about going to the hospital because if we missed a certain window of time, we'd wind up in about an hour of morning rush hour traffic. No thanks! So my dad came over to be with Jack and Leah and we left for the hospital at about 6:00 am.
We got to the hospital and checked in at the triage desk. A nurse hooked me up to the monitors for a little while and Kathrine checked me. I was at 3 cm and she could tell that the baby was still pretty high and needed to rotate a little bit in order to help me dilate more. I was a little bit discouraged at the number, and again was convinced that this meant another marathon labor ahead of me. Dan, Kathrine, and I walked around the hospital for a little bit to try to get things moving. Contractions had slowed down considerably since we'd left the house.
Once we were back from walking, I got back on the monitors for a few minutes and we chatted with Kathrine about what to do next. Since I wasn't progressing very quickly and I was at risk of getting over-exhausted before it was time for the real show to start, she suggested maybe going back home to rest (with a prescription for a stronger antihistamine to help me sleep). I knew this was a possibility, but I was also a little discouraged. But I was exhausted and knew that resting would be good. Before we did anything, she said, "Let me check you one more time." So she did and while she was, she said, "Hang on, I'm going to strip your membranes." So she did that and said, "Before I send you home, I want you to walk around for 30 minutes and come back here and we'll talk." So Dan and I left again and headed to get some breakfast. It was immediately evident that the membrane stripping (just the process of separating the bag of waters from the cervix--my waters were still in tact) definitely ramped up the contractions. I had three before we even left the building (we were headed to get breakfast in one of the Children's Hospital buildings), and I could hardly sit or eat without having to stop and focus on a contraction. After about a half hour, we headed back to my midwife. It was about 9:00 am at this point.
I again spent a little time on the monitors and Kathrine checked me. She said, "Okay, I'm happy with this. He's definitely starting to drop more. Let's see if we can get you in a room." I asked what my dilation was. "The number isn't important." I told her she sucked. :) But YAY, I was getting in a room and not going home!
We got into our room around 9:45. At 37 weeks, I had tested positive for Group B Strep. It doesn't mean much to carry it, but it's something that can be transmitted to the baby during delivery, so I had to have a round of IV antibiotics during labor. If things could be predicted well enough, they'd do the round of antibiotics exactly four hours before delivery. Unfortunately, we had no idea when he'd come. So they did the first round at 10:00 am and made plans to do a second round at 2:00 pm. My doula/photographer/cousin Renee came shortly after my first round of antibiotics were done. I continued to labor through extremely strong contractions. At one point I asked one of my nurses what my last dilation had been. She said 3-4 cm. I was surprised that was enough of a change to get us into a room, but pleased that it was better than nothing. But still--these felt like 7-8 cm contractions, NOT 3-4 cm contractions. That made me nervous.
After laboring for another hour or so, Kathrine checked me again. She said, "Oh, this is perfect. You're completely thinned out and soft, and he has rotated and dropped. Wonderful. Let's get in the tub!" I said, "Seriously? What am I dilated to?" She said, "The number doesn't matter. Let's get in the tub!" I told her she sucked again. :) As the tub was filling and the room was being transformed into "go time" mode, I overheard the nurses talking. They happen to need the actual numbers for my chart, and I heard them say something about 5-6. I thought, "Centimeters? There's no way I should be getting in the tub at only 5-6 cm." I know that sometimes the water can slow down labor, and that's really the last thing I wanted. But deep down, I would trust Kathrine with my life, so I trusted that she thought it was a good time to get in.
I got into the birth tub at around 11:35. The water felt amazing. The contractions didn't feel very different to me versus how they felt out of the water, but I could tell that the water helped me relax way more during the time between contractions. After being in the tub for about fifteen minutes, and during a particularly strong contraction, I said, "Um, urge to push! That can't be good!" In my head, I was still only 5-6 cm and I knew that if I felt the urge to push before I was completely dilated, I was going to have to fight that urge or risk making my cervix swell. Kathrine said, "That's fine--just go with it. Trust your body." So I let my body push involuntarily with the next couple of contractions. Before I knew it, his head was right there. And my bag of waters was still intact, which was amazing. I pushed out his head with one contraction and the water broke at that point. The rest of him came in one more push. (After Kathrine untangled the cord from around his neck--a nuchal cord is what took Hannah's life and I was fearful of seeing it again, even though it can happen and not be an issue at all). It was the most incredible feeling in the WORLD. I immediately pulled him up on me, and according to the photos that my cousin took, I started crying and stopped sometime a couple hours later. :) He was a little blue, which is common for water birth babies, since their head is still under water while their body is being born. And since the water had literally JUST broken, he had the amniotic sac stuck to his body. It was so crazy. (The fact that my water didn't break until his head was born was also good news on the Group B Strep front. They wanted the antibiotics in my system for at least four hours. We only got two. But Will never actually came in contact with the birth canal--he had the bag protecting him the whole time!)
William Joseph Bennett was born at 12:03 pm. I had gone from 5-6 cm to 10 cm in less than 20 minutes. And he was born about 10 minutes after I had the urge to push. From when I consider active labor started, he came in a reasonable 11 hours. Thankful he didn't follow in his siblings' footsteps on that one. :)
Once the umbilical cord had stopped pulsing, it was clamped for Dan to cut. We were separated and Dan was able to have some skin-to-skin time with Will while I got out of the tub to deliver the placenta. And while our experience up until this point was so ideal and amazing, the next 24 hours were a bit of a doozy. I ended up bleeding a little more than they would have liked, which made for a very "medical" postpartum recovery period. All in all, I lost about 2 1/2 liters of blood, but I luckily never needed an infusion.
Shortly after I delivered the placenta, Kathrine brought it over to me and said, "I need to show you something." She pointed out the cord going into the placenta and said, "This is what's called a Velamentous Cord Insertion." Basically, instead of the cord going INTO the placenta, it just attaches to the outside. (I had heard of it before because it's one of the issues they found with Grace, of The Missing Grace Foundation, after she was stillborn). It's (obviously) not always life-threatening, but it is concerning and it's something that should have been caught in an ultrasound. Kathrine said, "Let's just say this little guy had a guardian angel, and I think we both know who it was." And we cried. I looked up some more information about it when we were in our room later. When a VCI is caught via ultrasound, they will often induce labor early to avoid the chance that the placenta and cord will detach from each other. There are also often complications if a labor goes on too long. So what I got from that was that God clearly had his hand on this baby, and the fact that I went into labor on my own before 40 weeks and had a considerably shorter labor than my first two babies was not at all a coincidence. I was also initially frustrated that it hadn't been caught, but I after thinking about it, I believe that God was protecting me from knowing about it. It would have been one more anxiety-producing contribution to this pregnancy. It was as if he said, "Will is going to be fine. There's no reason to make Erin worry about one more thing."
All in all, this whole experience was very healing. No, it doesn't mean that we're that much more "over" losing Hannah or Charlie. But we have safely welcomed a rainbow baby into our family, and we couldn't be more thrilled to have him here!
Wednesday, August 28, 2013
The bereaved are not immune
When you lose a baby (or babies), you are not automatically ushered into a life where your current or future children always behave angelically. Where your pregnancy goes by quickly and without pesky symptoms. Where your life is perfect.
Bereaved parents are not immune to the humanness of this life.
When we first attempted to navigate through life after Hannah's death, I remember being really angry with people who complained about their perfect, healthy babies. Or their children who had the ability to cry and scream and throw tantrums. And honestly, sometimes I still get angry. Some people are clueless.
But mostly, I've been forced to walk a very thin line between the bereaved mother who misses her babies and knows what a gift her children are, and a frustrated mother who just wants her kids to stop fighting, dang it! And she'd also like this heartburn to let up. And to sleep uninterrupted by bathroom breaks and hip pain.
Last week I had to stop at Michaels for one item. As I tried to complete my transaction with the cashier, Jack and Leah were arguing over who got to carry the one item out of the store. After handing the woman my check card, I turned to them and said, "You guys. It is not a big deal. Please stop." The cashier finished and the woman in line behind me drummed up her snottiest voice, looked past me at my fighting children, glanced back at my belly and said, "And you want to have another?" No, it wasn't even a question. Imagine it more as, "And you want to have another," almost with a disapproving shake of her head.
I wasn't sure what to say. I think I just looked at her blankly, gave a small chuckle, and left the store. I wanted to say, "Oh, if you only knew what we've been through to 'have another.' Then maybe you'd keep your disgusting mouth shut!" But I didn't.
As I've sat with this experience for a week now, I have a kinder answer for this lovely woman.
Yes, I do want to have another. I want to have another because I understand the beauty that comes with new life. And I appreciate that beauty even more now that I've had to give two of those precious lives to the Lord.
I want to have another because I understand that these sibling arguments will cease and I will long for the day when I can watch them fight again.
I want to have another because I know that these annoying pregnancy maladies will end and I'll be left staring into the eyes of a baby I've longed for for over two years. Eyes I didn't get to stare into when I delivered Hannah or miscarried Charlie.
I want to have another, even though he may scream and cry and cause us all to lose a little sleep, because I'll remember that I would have given my right arm to hear my stillborn daughter make a sound.
So as much as I was taken aback by the rudeness of this woman, she has made me aware of something. That I know both sides. And that knowing and living both sides is a gift. One of those gifts that you wish you hadn't had to accept, but one of life's curve balls had other plans.
It's having perspective and having grace. And remembering that I'm human.
And not immune.
Bereaved parents are not immune to the humanness of this life.
When we first attempted to navigate through life after Hannah's death, I remember being really angry with people who complained about their perfect, healthy babies. Or their children who had the ability to cry and scream and throw tantrums. And honestly, sometimes I still get angry. Some people are clueless.
But mostly, I've been forced to walk a very thin line between the bereaved mother who misses her babies and knows what a gift her children are, and a frustrated mother who just wants her kids to stop fighting, dang it! And she'd also like this heartburn to let up. And to sleep uninterrupted by bathroom breaks and hip pain.
Last week I had to stop at Michaels for one item. As I tried to complete my transaction with the cashier, Jack and Leah were arguing over who got to carry the one item out of the store. After handing the woman my check card, I turned to them and said, "You guys. It is not a big deal. Please stop." The cashier finished and the woman in line behind me drummed up her snottiest voice, looked past me at my fighting children, glanced back at my belly and said, "And you want to have another?" No, it wasn't even a question. Imagine it more as, "And you want to have another," almost with a disapproving shake of her head.
I wasn't sure what to say. I think I just looked at her blankly, gave a small chuckle, and left the store. I wanted to say, "Oh, if you only knew what we've been through to 'have another.' Then maybe you'd keep your disgusting mouth shut!" But I didn't.
As I've sat with this experience for a week now, I have a kinder answer for this lovely woman.
Yes, I do want to have another. I want to have another because I understand the beauty that comes with new life. And I appreciate that beauty even more now that I've had to give two of those precious lives to the Lord.
I want to have another because I understand that these sibling arguments will cease and I will long for the day when I can watch them fight again.
I want to have another because I know that these annoying pregnancy maladies will end and I'll be left staring into the eyes of a baby I've longed for for over two years. Eyes I didn't get to stare into when I delivered Hannah or miscarried Charlie.
I want to have another, even though he may scream and cry and cause us all to lose a little sleep, because I'll remember that I would have given my right arm to hear my stillborn daughter make a sound.
So as much as I was taken aback by the rudeness of this woman, she has made me aware of something. That I know both sides. And that knowing and living both sides is a gift. One of those gifts that you wish you hadn't had to accept, but one of life's curve balls had other plans.
It's having perspective and having grace. And remembering that I'm human.
And not immune.
Monday, August 05, 2013
An update of sorts :)
Hmmm. I've inadvertently taken a two-month blogging break. Yeah, things are a little crazy around here :)
For one, we closed on a new house on June 4th. We spent a little over a month fixing it up (lots of paint and random projects) and moved in on July 13th. Now we're just getting settled and unpacked and trying to get used to the fact that we live on the other side of town from where we used to. Nearly every trip somewhere makes me think, "Okay, how do we get to _____ from here?" I think I'm finally getting the hang of it. And the house is just amazing and exactly what we needed. A fresh start.
Oh, and I'm in my third trimester of this very complicated rainbow pregnancy. Complicated because each day is very different and unpredictable. One day I can be really positive and confident and actually picture meeting the little guy. Enough that I can even wash, dry, and fold tiny baby clothes and buy some tiny diapers and make a hospital bag packing list. And then there are days when I wonder how on earth I can just assume that everything is going to be okay. And my mind thinks of all of the things that can go wrong between now and when he is supposed to be born.
One thing that has really helped is seeing a psychologist who deals with helping women heal from past traumatic birth experiences. While re-reading a book about childbirth a couple of months ago, I realized that the fact that my last hospital birth experience was delivering my stillborn daughter might play a pretty big part in my experience this time around. So I asked around and found a wonderful woman in St. Paul. And I feel much better about going into another labor experience being aware of the things that can come up, but also being aware that this baby is writing his own story.
Eight weeks left (or closer to ten if he follows in his siblings' footsteps). Either way, October is going to be here before we know it. Which is wonderful. I can't wait to meet this little man whose feet are currently kicking just about right through my belly. :) I can't wait for Jack and Leah to meet him--they are so in love already, rubbing my belly and talking to him. And I can't wait to tell him about his other brother and sister who made it possible for him to be a part of this family.
For one, we closed on a new house on June 4th. We spent a little over a month fixing it up (lots of paint and random projects) and moved in on July 13th. Now we're just getting settled and unpacked and trying to get used to the fact that we live on the other side of town from where we used to. Nearly every trip somewhere makes me think, "Okay, how do we get to _____ from here?" I think I'm finally getting the hang of it. And the house is just amazing and exactly what we needed. A fresh start.
Oh, and I'm in my third trimester of this very complicated rainbow pregnancy. Complicated because each day is very different and unpredictable. One day I can be really positive and confident and actually picture meeting the little guy. Enough that I can even wash, dry, and fold tiny baby clothes and buy some tiny diapers and make a hospital bag packing list. And then there are days when I wonder how on earth I can just assume that everything is going to be okay. And my mind thinks of all of the things that can go wrong between now and when he is supposed to be born.
One thing that has really helped is seeing a psychologist who deals with helping women heal from past traumatic birth experiences. While re-reading a book about childbirth a couple of months ago, I realized that the fact that my last hospital birth experience was delivering my stillborn daughter might play a pretty big part in my experience this time around. So I asked around and found a wonderful woman in St. Paul. And I feel much better about going into another labor experience being aware of the things that can come up, but also being aware that this baby is writing his own story.
Eight weeks left (or closer to ten if he follows in his siblings' footsteps). Either way, October is going to be here before we know it. Which is wonderful. I can't wait to meet this little man whose feet are currently kicking just about right through my belly. :) I can't wait for Jack and Leah to meet him--they are so in love already, rubbing my belly and talking to him. And I can't wait to tell him about his other brother and sister who made it possible for him to be a part of this family.
Sunday, June 09, 2013
Significant
It may appear to be a standard "belly shot."
This picture just happened to be taken last week when I reached 23 weeks and 2 days. A year and a half ago, 23 weeks and 2 days is when we met Hannah.
The whole week leading up to that day, I kept thinking "Hannah was probably gone by now." And as if on cue, baby boy would flip or kick to let me know that he was definitely not gone.
Our pastor was able to put some words to this complicated time for me in last week's sermon. We're studying Acts, and the last couple of weeks have focused on how we respond to storms. Sometimes we survive them, sometimes we can't avoid the bad waves and our boat is capsized.
The truth is, our boat DID capsize on November 5, 2011. I remember people telling me it was okay to be mad at God. And I knew that it was okay--that God could handle it. But I never felt that. I knew that somehow, in the midst of our pain, God was (and is) still good. And when we got pregnant again, we trusted a God we knew was good. And when that pregnancy ended too, we still trusted. What other option did we have? Sink in an ocean that had claimed our boat yet again?
My lightbulb moment last Sunday came when our pastor explained why we continue to trust when things go wrong, particularly repeatedly. We trust because he has proven to be trustworthy by the work he did on the cross. We're not just trusting because it's the right, godly thing to do.
So I've made it past the point where we said hello and goodbye to Hannah. This is the most pregnant I've been since March of 2009 when Leah was inside me. And obviously making it past this point doesn't guarantee us anything. We aren't promised a healthy, living baby just because we've made it to ___ weeks. But that doesn't mean that I have to spend the next 17 weeks in fear. I will continue to trust. To trust a God who is good. A God who gives good gifts. A God who will carry us through whatever lies ahead, whether than includes parenting this boy in this world or not. A God who has given us good reason to trust him.
*If you're interested in checking out the whole sermon, you can watch here: http://vimeo.com/67560859
Sunday, May 12, 2013
Mother's Day
As I said on Facebook, Mother's Day is complicated. I understand both the joy and pain of this day.
I came across a blog last week and want to share part of the author's (Amy Young) post:
I came across a blog last week and want to share part of the author's (Amy Young) post:
To those who gave birth this year to their first child—we celebrate with you
To those who lost a child this year – we mourn with you
To those who are in the trenches with little ones every day and wear the badge of food stains – we appreciate you
To those who experienced loss this year through miscarriage, failed adoptions, or running away—we mourn with you
To those who walk the hard path of infertility, fraught with pokes, prods, tears, and disappointment – we walk with you. Forgive us when we say foolish things. We don’t mean to make this harder than it is.
To those who are foster moms, mentor moms, and spiritual moms – we need you
To those who have warm and close relationships with your children – we celebrate with you
To those who have disappointment, heart ache, and distance with your children – we sit with you
To those who lost their mothers this year – we grieve with you
To those who experienced abuse at the hands of your own mother – we acknowledge your experience
To those who lived through driving tests, medical tests, and the overall testing of motherhood – we are better for having you in our midst
To those who will have emptier nests in the upcoming year – we grieve and rejoice with you
And to those who are pregnant with new life, both expected and surprising –we anticipate with you
This Mother’s Day, we walk with you. Mothering is not for the faint of heart and we have real warriors in our midst. We remember you.
Wednesday, April 10, 2013
Nothing can separate us
I was reading the One Year Book of Hope last night before bed and loved their "amplified" version of Romans 8:38-39, so I wanted to share it here. :)
"For I am convinced that neither death nor life [not cancer, a car accident, crime, or calamity], neither angels nor demons [not evil in the media or crazed psychopaths], neither the present nor the future [not any current crisis or any tragedy that may be in my future], nor any powers [not a demanding boss, a cruel dictator, or a blood-thirsty terrorist], neither height nor depth [not winning the lottery or losing my life savings], nor anything else in all creation [not a hole in the ozone, a forest fire or a hurricane, a hungry shark or a killer bee] will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord."
"For I am convinced that neither death nor life [not cancer, a car accident, crime, or calamity], neither angels nor demons [not evil in the media or crazed psychopaths], neither the present nor the future [not any current crisis or any tragedy that may be in my future], nor any powers [not a demanding boss, a cruel dictator, or a blood-thirsty terrorist], neither height nor depth [not winning the lottery or losing my life savings], nor anything else in all creation [not a hole in the ozone, a forest fire or a hurricane, a hungry shark or a killer bee] will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord."
Tuesday, April 02, 2013
Thursday, March 28, 2013
Book recommendations
I recently added two books to the Resources tab and wanted to review them briefly.
He Heard Hannah by Lynnette Kraft and Courtney Becker was brought up on a babyloss Facebook page and obviously caught my attention because of the title. And it was super cheap for the Kindle, so I grabbed it and ended up reading it last week. It's a fairly quick read and a really touching story. The book is written by both authors, each taking every other chapter. Lynnette and her husband have nine children, three of whom are in heaven. They lost two sons at or shortly after birth and their daughter Anna was born with a heart condition that they knew would eventually claim her life. Courtney (male) was the 911 dispatcher who talked Lynnette's husband Kyle through the last moments of Anna's life. This event completely altered the path of his life, and he eventually reconnected with the Krafts. The book is an amazing testament of how God can use the pain in our lives for good.
The One Year Book of Hope by Nancy Guthrie is a book I've had on my shelf for over a year. It came in a care package from a wonderful organization after we lost Hannah. It's by the same author as Holding onto Hope, which I read right before I lost Charlie and completely devoured and adored. It's a story of their grief journey, coupled with a study on the book of Job. The One Year Book of Hope is a daily devotional (but without dates, so you can start when you want and take as much time as you need). :) Each week has a different theme (such as "Brokenhearted," "Holy Spirit, Comforter," "Sovereignty of God," and "The Mysteries of Heaven") and begins with an introduction. There are then five days of related studies (with a scripture, prayer, and am opportunity for "digging deeper" in more scripture) and a closing day with reflection, meditation, and prayer. This book has been so refreshing, and I love digging in every day. If you're looking for something to read daily, I'd definitely recommend it.
He Heard Hannah by Lynnette Kraft and Courtney Becker was brought up on a babyloss Facebook page and obviously caught my attention because of the title. And it was super cheap for the Kindle, so I grabbed it and ended up reading it last week. It's a fairly quick read and a really touching story. The book is written by both authors, each taking every other chapter. Lynnette and her husband have nine children, three of whom are in heaven. They lost two sons at or shortly after birth and their daughter Anna was born with a heart condition that they knew would eventually claim her life. Courtney (male) was the 911 dispatcher who talked Lynnette's husband Kyle through the last moments of Anna's life. This event completely altered the path of his life, and he eventually reconnected with the Krafts. The book is an amazing testament of how God can use the pain in our lives for good.
The One Year Book of Hope by Nancy Guthrie is a book I've had on my shelf for over a year. It came in a care package from a wonderful organization after we lost Hannah. It's by the same author as Holding onto Hope, which I read right before I lost Charlie and completely devoured and adored. It's a story of their grief journey, coupled with a study on the book of Job. The One Year Book of Hope is a daily devotional (but without dates, so you can start when you want and take as much time as you need). :) Each week has a different theme (such as "Brokenhearted," "Holy Spirit, Comforter," "Sovereignty of God," and "The Mysteries of Heaven") and begins with an introduction. There are then five days of related studies (with a scripture, prayer, and am opportunity for "digging deeper" in more scripture) and a closing day with reflection, meditation, and prayer. This book has been so refreshing, and I love digging in every day. If you're looking for something to read daily, I'd definitely recommend it.
Monday, March 04, 2013
Hope
I'm not about to tell people how they should grieve, but I do find myself saddened by the fact that more people don't live with hope. Being thrust into this babyloss community, I have a front-row seat to everyone's struggles. And sometimes those struggles are downright despair with no glimmer of hope anywhere.
Now, don't get me wrong. I have really hard days. I am sad that Hannah and Charlie aren't here. But there is always hope. The God who carried us through our losses still carries us today. I can't imagine how hard life would feel without Him.
The other night, I was driving home from St. Paul when this song came on the radio. It was totally a gift from God right when I needed it. A perfect reminder that He has been there all along. He IS constant, good, and sovereign.
You were reaching through the storm
walking on the water
even when I could not see
in the middle of it all
when I thought You were a thousand miles away
not for a moment did You forsake me
not for a moment did You forsake me
after all You are constant
after all You are only good
after all You are sovereign
not for a moment will You forsake me
not for a moment will You forsake me
You were singing in the dark
whispering Your promise
even when I could not hear
I was held in Your arms
carried for a thousand miles to show
Not for a moment did You forsake me
and every step every breath you are there
every tear every cry every prayer
in my hurt at my worst
when my world falls down
not for a moment will You forsake me
even in the dark
even when it's hard
you will never leave me
after all
not for a moment will You forsake me
Praying for friends today, wherever they are in their grief. Praying for hope.
Now, don't get me wrong. I have really hard days. I am sad that Hannah and Charlie aren't here. But there is always hope. The God who carried us through our losses still carries us today. I can't imagine how hard life would feel without Him.
The other night, I was driving home from St. Paul when this song came on the radio. It was totally a gift from God right when I needed it. A perfect reminder that He has been there all along. He IS constant, good, and sovereign.
You were reaching through the storm
walking on the water
even when I could not see
in the middle of it all
when I thought You were a thousand miles away
not for a moment did You forsake me
not for a moment did You forsake me
after all You are constant
after all You are only good
after all You are sovereign
not for a moment will You forsake me
not for a moment will You forsake me
You were singing in the dark
whispering Your promise
even when I could not hear
I was held in Your arms
carried for a thousand miles to show
Not for a moment did You forsake me
and every step every breath you are there
every tear every cry every prayer
in my hurt at my worst
when my world falls down
not for a moment will You forsake me
even in the dark
even when it's hard
you will never leave me
after all
not for a moment will You forsake me
Praying for friends today, wherever they are in their grief. Praying for hope.
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