Humbled

Mark and I have had many gut wrenching and agonizing tear filled discussions since last sunday. Last night I began weeping. Mark came to me and held me. I finally got the courage to look at him and ask him why he thought this happened to us.

After nearly and hour of crying together, we realized many things. Most are too personal to reveal here, and some are his to tell, not mine. But the biggest is the realization that we have not been humble. We have not been humble to each other. We have not been humble in the world.

WE WERE NOT HUMBLE ABOUT THIS PREGNANCY.

For Mark, it was another source of financial drain. I don't mean that to be as cold as it sounds. Mark is, above all things, a tremendous provider. He was worried about finances. For a man, joy in the child begins at birth. Bonding begins when he can see the child, hold it, and care for it. Mark was worried about the practicalities.

As for me, getting pregnant was something to get out of the way. It was something we decided on and worked at, and here it was, done! Check it off the to do list. I also thought that because I had "paid my dues" in pain and heartache in my life, my babies would be sacred and untouchable. I was wrong.

Neither one of us was looking at this as the blessing it was. A blessing from God. Sure, of course we saw it in that light at times. But we didn't fully focus on that as we should have. We weren't humbled, brought to our knees at the thought of carrying a child of God through this world.

Please don't mistake me. I am not saying that this is why we lost our baby. But if we have learned anything from this, it is that creating and accepting humbly God's will for our lives is essential. It is not OUR lives, anyway. It is His. We are along for the ride. This was a lesson we needed, badly.

Of all the things I know, it is this- if God chooses to grant us life again, we will marvel, sing for joy, pray, and devote ourselves to every second of life this child has. Whether it is carried through to life on earth or goes to heaven early, we will have joy in every single moment.

Life is not promised to us. A journey free from pain is not promised. All that is promised, dear friends, is that when the worst happens, God is there. He weeps with us. He gives us comfort. And He never leaves, even when others do.

For now, I am simply trying to kneel at the foot of my Father and accept this. I am trying to learn what this can teach me. I am humbling myself like I have never before. I am giving up control of my life, again, to the One. I am seeking comfort. I am praying for guidance. At times, I believe I am finding it. At times I am sure I am an inch away from losing all will to go on.

Baby J has taught me so much more than I would ever have learned had he not spent his too short time in my womb. I have learned that God has placed people in my life so that I could serve them. In return, in moments like this, I am supported. But servitude is in my soul, and I intend to serve faithfully all of the rest of my days.

I have learned that my husband is so much more than just somebody to go through life with. He is my divine companion, directly placed by God's hand into my life. This could have torn us apart. Instead, we are closer than I ever thought possible.

Mostly I have learned that every second of life is precious. I am trying to be kind to my body. I am trying to love my ability to concieve and carry not matter for how short a time it is.

And the best and most wonderful blessing of all is remembering every second of everyday just how precious my sweet Lily is, how tenuous her hold in this world was when she rested in my body, and how she and I and our mighty Savior fought the world together so she could live.

Every day, every second, every moment. Treasure it. Live it. And give thanks.

B




Sweet baby J,

We love you. We miss you. I dream of your sweet downy head and your face, of cradling you. My body aches to have you back.

Thank you for the lesson. We will never, ever forget you my love.

Rest well, be peaceful,and someday....

Love,
Mama

Before and After...

I am never going to be the same.

I have made a few decisions in the past few days that have affected me deeply. One is to name the baby, just in my mind. I don't want to grieve for a nameless child. It feels wrong. If you are loved, you should be named. So if you see me refer to baby "J", you know. (by the way, I also feel he was a boy, so I refer to him as such)

The world looks different. Everywhere we go we see newborns and pregnant women. It hurts. The world hurts me right now. Baby clothes and pictures of babies. Women swollen with life.

I never knew that I could hold this much hurt, and be this much of a vessel for pain. I am feeling everything. I cannot force these feelings down, and cannot make myself ignore them.

I am constantly worried about when Mark's patience will give out, and wondering when people will begin rolling their eyes at my tears and sadness. It will happen. Because I only knew of the baby for 3 weeks, people will assume there was not much of an attachment. Nothing could be further from the truth.

I knew this child, I loved him and held him in my heart long before he was created. I longed physically for him. Held him in countless dreams. Wished for him. Waited for him. And on a snowy Christmas Eve, after celebrating our Saviors birth, my baby was conceived. It was a beautiful way to begin life. Loved before you were even created. Longed for. Made in love.

He was so much to me. He was the hope of my heart. A sibling for Lily. A child for Mark and I to love and hold close. Joy. Happiness. All in one tiny little body.

I won't hold him. I won't count his fingers or toes. I won't sit up with him when he is ill. I won't whisper I love you. I won't laugh with him. Won't watch him take first steps. I won't get to mother him.

This is what is the hardest. I cry and beg God for a second chance. Mark holds me tight while I weep and wail just to have him back. Just a second chance God.

But I know it's not to be. He is gone.

We made a memorial for the baby today. A simple statue of an angel baby sleeping. On a whim on the way out of the store I grabbed a stone that said "Believe". I don't know why really. But it is there, right next to the angel. Over baby "J"'s resting place.

Take care friends. Hug your babies extra close tonight.

Waiting for the rainbow

Love is a mighty force. Love and prayer even mightier.

I have been overwhelmed with both in the past few days.

There have been phone calls and visits and dinners and brownies and flowers. There has been moments where I thought I would not make it even another second and hope floods me like the tide and I KNOW I am being uplifted. My friends have been on their knees for me. They have been calling out my name to God.

How can I ever ever thank you enough? You have held me and my family in your hearts and taken my name to God. You have shed tears for me. You have shown me that I was loved, and I feel it and am soaking every single bit up. I need your comfort like I need breath right now. I want to say thank you with all that I am.

The days since I lost the baby have been gray and stormy. They have reflected what has been going on in my mind and soul. But today I woke from an afternoon nap feeling a little different. I looked outside and I can see just a bit of sun on the horizon.

I realized I'm tired of the rain. I'm waiting for the rainbow.

Mark and I have talked extensively in the past days. He has urged me to trust God, and to trust my body to know when something is wrong. My body is wise. My body is healthy and strong. My God is sovreign. My God is loving. I must trust both.

This baby was not meant to draw breath on this earth. It was not meant to live.

Oh that hurts to write. Hurts hurts hurts. But I know it to have the ring of truth. I know it is true.

My child will never nurse from my body. My child will never swing or play with Lily or have time out or eat ice cream. But my child lives. My child lives in heaven. And this loss has so much to teach me. I just have to listen.

I have learned that I need my friends and loved ones. I cannot go through this world alone anymore. I need.

I have learned that I love and admire my husband so much more than I ever thought I could. He is so patient, so wise, and so giving. I will never ever take him for granted again. He is my heart.

I have learned that people are insensitive. People are unkind. There are those who have already told me to move on. But they don't understand. And I pray they never do.

I have learned, above all, that being a mother is what I am in my soul. I was born for this. I was born to love my children. I am a mother, through and through. God created me to nurture, but he never promised me it would be easy. And He never promised me I wouldn't have losses.

This has taught me that my need for God is a strong as my need for water or air. I cannot exist anymore on what my own mind has to offer- I need strenngth and wisdom from my God. I need comfort only He can give. And I need to trust Him.

So yes, my loss is tremendous. Along with the loss of my baby I have lost a whole set of dreams I had for him. I have lost the picture in my mind of what my family will look like. But I have gained so much as well.

Thank you for your prayers, your love, and your words. You are part of my rainbow.

I don't know where to begin.

I thought I was well aquainted with pain. I was wrong.

This is what real pain is. This is real grienf. This is mourning.

All that was before is nothing. All that pain I thought I went through is a drop in the bucket.

My baby is gone. He never got a chance to live. I knew of him for only a few weeks, but it was enough.

He let me know of his passing with blood and pain. This has not been an easy letting go of life. It has been bloody and brutal and unkind. There is no doubt that this is a death.

I cannot eat. I cannot nourish the body that let my baby die.

I cannot sleep because of the physical pain. Prescription painkillers do not even put a dent in it.

I sit and look out the window at where we buried the remains. I lose 20 minutes, an hour.

I am a mess. And it is exactly as it should be.

Never ever in my life have I allowed myself to pour my emotions out like this. I am honest, I am brutally honest when I talk about it. Right now anyone reading this is cringing, wondering if I am okay.

Yes, and no. All of my dreams of the family I wanted are gone. I will not have any more children. I can't take a chance on this happening again. I have to make peace with that.

I will always look around the dinner table and feel somebody is missing. But my chance has come and gone. I have my daughter. I have my miracle. That will have to be enough.

I love God, but right now, I don't like Him very much. He gives and takes. In this case he allowed my baby to be taken after it had time to implant, time to have a heartbeat, time to draw nourishment from me.

But I know God is not intimidated by my anger or disappointment. He lost a son too. He has walked this path. He knows my thoughts. He knows that even though I am angry and disappointed, I still need Him. I still seek Him. And I still love Him.

So here I am, mired in something millions of other women have gone through. But feeling utterly alone. There is nothing anyone can say. There is nothing anyone can do. This is a death. Death is consuming. Death of an unborn child is so contrary to nature that most mothers cannot even bear to think of it or talk about it, whether they have experienced it or not.

So where do I go from here? What do I do now?

I don't know. I have no answers. This is something I have to pull myself out of. This is something I cannot escape. I have to walk it. I cannot medicate it, I cannot ignore it. I have to walk it. I have a living child I have to make a way through this world for. I can only stay mired for so long.

I need your prayers. I need your voice. Please don't ignore this. Talk to me. I am alone here. I need company. I need you to cry with me. I need you to acknowledge my loss. It was early pregnancy yes, but it was my BABY.

Thank you for listening, friends. I love you.

I am lost here, in my own home.

Things that I see everyday look foreign. The sound of my husband's voice is like a strangers. My daughters face is different.

I am grieving, and hurting, and lost.

Today we went to the ob. She examined me, and told me what I already knew from my ER visit yesterday- that my body was miscarrying my precious baby. She told me my body was doing a beautiful job naturally, on it's own. I can safely say this is one area where I had not planned to excell.

The nurse told me brightly on the way out "Now you get to go home and lay on the couch all day!!!"

Yes, and bleed and be in pain while I mourn. Bonus.

When I came home I passed the remains of the baby. I asked Mark to bury it under the statue of St Mary in our backyard. I watched from the window in the kitchen while he did something for me out of love. He understands better than I thought he would that this child was just as real to me as Lily is.

I've had losses before, but not like this. Not with the pain, the bleeding, the passing of what can only be known as tissue from the pregnancy. It is horriffic and sacred, all at the same time. It is lonely, about as lonely as it can ever get. I long for people around me, but I know I will only sit and stare into space like I have been all day.

I don't know what to say. I don't know how to act. I don't know where to begin.

In the midst of all of this, there is God. I can mourn and grieve and at the same time still trust. And I do. I don't understand, but I trust.

I wish...wow. There's no way to finish that sentence. Do I wish the baby was still here? I don't know. I have to trust my body's wisdom in knowing when something isn't right. But this hurts. Physically I am a wreck. Mentally more so. Spiritually wounded.

To say I could use your prayers is an understatement. I need everything you can give me right now. I'm used to going things alone, but this time I need more than my own mind and spirit can give me.

Please say a prayer for my baby, for my family. For my strength.

Heartbroken...

This is the post I never wanted to write.

My baby is gone- just stopped growing and slipped away sometime in the past few days.

But my God is the same. He gives and takes away. I don't understand, and my heart is broken, but my trust will not waver.


Goodbye, sweet little bean. One day, I will hold you. Until then, I will miss you.

Picture this...

A mother, lets call her Stella, sits on the toilet, in excruciating pain because the anti-biotics she has taken for a raging sinus infection is causing her guts to feel as if they are being pulled out thru her belly button.

Her 2 year old daughter, let's call her Milly, has ambled in after her becuase naturally there is no privacy with toddlers.

The mother moans and begins crying. It's been a long day filled with a fussing whiny baby, snotty noses, excruciating head and face pain, and of course nausea. As it stands the mother got the anti-biotics on saturday, but refused to take them because she didn't want to cause any harm to her unborn bean. Even though the doc said it was fine. She is tough.

That was before her face began to feel like she was hit with a baseball bat, and her ear began oozing. Of course she gave in after lying on the couch in agony all day. Little did she know the fun was just beginning.

So, back to the bathroom scene. The toddler sees mommy begin to cry and starts crying herself. Mommy quickly recovers and puts on a happy face. She asks little Milly what would make her happy. Milly says, of course, a song. Mommy asks what song.

"Ohohohohoh" Milly replies.

Yes, of course. Single Ladies by Beyonce.

So mommy, in the midst of her gastric distress and pain, does a adequate job of singing "Single Ladies" for her sweet girl. But is this enough? Oh no. She must have dancing as well.

So yes, mommy does a toilet dance, complete with hand gestures and a catchy little shoulder shake. All from the potty.

Somehow I don't think this is what Beyonce had in mind when she sang about "up in the club".

But that's how we roll around here.

And how was YOUR day, friends?

Actual conversation...

Lily: Be wi dack (be right back)

Me: Okay, where ya going?

Lily: Wok (work)

Me: Okay, what ya gonna do there?

Lily: (looks at me like I am an idiot) Wok, momma. Wok.

Me: Oooooh. *sips coffee*

Lily runs off. She comes back 2 minutes later.

Lily: Momma?

Me: Mmmmmhmmm?

Lily: Wok momma, wok. Big poopoo. Change it pease.

Me: So that's the work you did? A poopoo.

Lily: Yes.

Me: You could not be MORE like your father.

Lily: Yes, me dada. Wok. Dada wok. Lily Wok.

Indeed.

Ramble on...

So, I realized today I don't have any urge to blog. So, what do I do... get on here and blog about not wanting to blog, naturally.

I think I have what alot of first trimester mommies have- the apathetic I feel like sludge blues. I'm throwing up or feel like throwing up all the time, and I am dead tired. Lily certainly did not do this to me.

But you know what? It's easier this time. Because all I have to do is look at her sweet face, and I know just what it is I am suffering for. And I will not complain because I am blessed enough to carry life. I am blessed...even when I am hurling. I am blessed.

Anyway, I think I may have taken on a few too many physical challenges at this stage in my pregnancy- the 5K, the 10,000 steps challenge, plus my daily SS. But I can do only what I can do, and no more. I'm going to push myself, but I am also going to listen to my body. I just wish it didn't feel like I was moving through quicksand all the time. Even my thinking is muddled. Well, more muddled than usual.

It's crazy to think that this time next year I will be the mother of 2. I'm terrified, actually. You know what scares me the worst? The thought of being up all night again. Sitting up, nursing and crying...wondering if I was the only one in the world awake. I know now that just a few miles away, my friends were awake with their babies too, and at the same time we were moving in concentric circles...feed, sleep, wake. Feed, sleep, wake. But boy was it lonely.

I know I will be a good mother. I know that I will love and care for my babies and they will never doubt my love for them. But how will I keep myself for myself at the same time? How will I not lose myself in the nursing, the neediness, the feeding and washing and crying? How will I stay...well, me?

Maybe this is why I can't sleep, eh?

Ah well, off to a warm bath and tea. Another day down, hundreds more to go.

Sleep well.

January 15th

Every year for the past 13 years, I write a letter to my mother around January 15th, the anniversary of her death. At different points in my life they have swung wildly from pain filled, to anger filled, to joyful, to smug, and to hopeful. But I've always had something to say.

Until this year. This year, I sat down to write the letter, and no words came. Nothing. It was as if a terrific blankness replaced everything I would have let go. There is nothing to say anymore. The words have gone dry.

Forgiveness has finally settled in my heart.

God can be the only author of such an ordinary miracle.

So instead, I will tell you about my mother. She was beautiful. She was cruel. She was very very sick, and she wounded me in ways that even if I told you, you would not believe. They defy the laws of nature, the common principle of all mothers- do not injure your young. She could not see past her sickness beyond herself. She was terribly selfish to me, her child...but could be tender and kind to animals. She could grow anything- any plant, any food, any tree or flower. She was a source of such pain and chaos in my life that for the whole of it, I have lived with her shadow. I look at my body and see the scars she gave me. I close my eyes and have flashbacks. I spent countless tears and countless hours wishing for different.

But anything in me that lit the fire of anger or rage at her has been lifted away. I have memories, and I have sadness, yes. I am sad that I do not have a mother that will ever hold my babies. I don't have a mother who has my best interests at heart. I don't have a mother that will stand between me and anybody or anything else. I have adequate replacements, yes. I have women who have stepped in and taken over. But can it ever be the same- no. Of course it can't.

I have come to realize something profound about forgiveness. It does not mean that you forget. It doesn't mean that it doesn't make you angry or sad anymore. It doesn't mean that you aren't haunted. It means that you choose to close the chapter for YOURSELF. You will still think of the hurt and injury, always, that is human nature. But it's ability to hold sway over you diminishes when you lay forgivness over it. It's a balm of healing.

So here I am. I am further into the course of my life than my mother ever made it. I am healthy. I am strong emotionally. I am not battered by my own psyche. I have terrific relationships I don't try to wound my way out of. I have a child I will never injure, and another on the way I will treasure. I am content. I am at peace with myself and the course of my life.

I cannot say that I love my mother. I can't say that I miss her. But I can say that I am finally at a place where the actions of her life no longer haunt mine. I hope that wherever she rests tonight, she feels peace and God's love. And I also hope, one day, that I will see her again. I have faith that she will be fully healed of her demons and I will be able to look into the eyes of the mother she could have been. In heaven, I will have her fully. Until then, I will allow God to come like the tide and fill the voids she left behind.

Be at peace, Mom. I finally am.

I will carry your name.

Yesterday I was gabbing with some girls after SS, and the baby came up in conversation. Someboy asked how far along I was, and when I replied "5 weeks" she said "You're so brave to tell people." I mentioned something along the lines of not putting stock in all that bad luck stuff and we moved on.

But the truth is much deeper than that. Deeper and simpler. It can be summed up in five words.

I believe in my God.

He knows what the plan is. I don't have to. If my life has taught me anything, it is that one simple fact. I am a passenger here. I am not the driver.

If I believe this much in my God, I also believe He is in control of my life. He has surrounded me with those He knows will love me and care for me. He has shown me, over and over, that loyalty and friendship is returned threefold.

I share the news of the baby without fear, without reservation, and without worry, because ultimately what happens is not in my hands. It's in His. And were this pregnancy to fail, the people He has given to surround me will be the same who hold me up. Those who dance with me now in joy will hold me in sorrow.

Because that's what you do for those you love. You dance with them in joy, you halve their burdens with a willing heart, your mourn with them. You sit without speaking. You laugh through tears, and you take their name to the throne when there is nothing else you can do.

You carry their name to the One who can, and does, comfort and save. You bring their name as an offering on your lips to the throne of Christ. You ask Him to replenish what has been lost, comfort what cannot be comforted, bring joy and love and happiness again after a season of loss. You let the name of the one you love fall freely and without reservation from your mouth, over and over through tears and clasped hands.

You ask for love and joy for a friend who has endured the loss of a marraige, and it's promise of a forever love.

You ask for spiritual growth and uplifting for one who is down.

You ask for strength for one that has made a decision to break an addiction.

You ask for the strength of a union to be renewed and made whole again.

You ask for the broken to be mended.

You carry their name in your heart, and you take it humbly to Christ.

I am not a Bible scholar. I don't go to church often. I am not what others may refer to as a "good christian". But if you are mine, and I am yours, rest assured your name is on my lips often. Even if you don't believe. Even if there is hurt between us. I will carry your name to Him.

Blessed....

This is written through tears of joy and thankfullness.

The deepest longing of my heart has been filled. Our family will welcome a new baby in September.

God is real. God is alive. And He can be trusted.



Luke 11:9 And I say unto you, Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you.

10 For every one that asketh receiveth; and he that seeketh findeth; and to him that knocketh it shall be opened.

Matthew 21:22 And all things, whatsoever ye shall ask in prayer, believing, ye shall receive.

Longing for a stranger

Today, I got a little angry with God.

Mark and I have been trying to get pregnant for a bit now, and despite our best efforts, it isn't happening. Again. With Lily it took around 8-9 months, and Mark and I still talk about that time with alot of angst. Him because I was a psychotic hormonal crazy person, me because the longing for a baby was way beyond anything I have ever experienced.

I have always known I was meant to be a mother. I have always loved children and been a mother hen in every way. When I got my first job it was in childcare, and I never saw a need to do anything else. For 16 years I took care of other people's precious babies, all the while knowing that one day I would have my own.

So when Mark and I decided to start trying (or rather I decided and he reluctantly agreed), I expected it to happen really easily. Boy was I wrong. It was months of such an up and down roller coaster of emotions I can't even begin to describe it. I drove my poor husband crazy. I cried, I tested, I cried some more. Eventually I gave up. And then it happened. My sweet Lily.

Anyhow, we are at that point again. Actively trying, hoping, waiting. And this time, it's not such a mad rush. I know I can concieve. I already have one child to take my mind off of things. But oh the longing. It is beyond anything I could ever describe this time, because I know exactly what I am longing for.

Sweet fluttery kicks. A rounded belly, blossoming with life. Tiny clothes and breastmilk and the smell of a newborn babys head. A sweet little one snuggled in a sling against me.

Today I saw a newborn baby at the store. You know, the tiniest of tiny. A few days old, with the sweet newborn baby cap and gown and the cry that sounds part duck, part cat. The feeling that rose up in me when I walked around the corner to see this baby was one of deep sadness, longing, and then, anger. In my mind I was asking God- "Why not me?" and then "Please, God, tell me why this isn't happening for me?"

As usual, on this subject, He is silent.

I don't think there is any worse feeling than longing for a baby. It is desperate and sweet and is like a knife to the heart everytime you see a little one. It just plain hurts. I think about this tiny spirit waiting to be given life. I look around our dinner table and feel someone is missing.

I know patience is absolutely essential here. My body will concieve when the time is right. But until that happens, I will be longing for this little stranger to come and rest below my heart. I will long for him to be born of my body and nurtured by my breats. I will long for the scent of his head and the downy weight of his body in my arms.

Just a vent

I'm having one of those days today. You know when you feel just crummy about yourself? Not myself in general, but my appearance.

I gained 7 lbs. *sigh*

I feel such shame over this. I know it's my fault, and I can see it when I look in the mirror. It's all over my thighs and stomach. And I also know in the grand scheme of things, it's not such a big deal. But it makes me very very sad.

I really try hard. But when I give in and eat cookies and fudge and pie like everyone else this time of year, I gain 4 times as much as anyone else.

And yes, I am aware my last post was all about loving myself and etc. And I do. My body is strong. But it's also big, and doesn't reflect my lifestyle. I want to look the way I feel- strong. And I don't. And I never will.

I don't want this to come off as whiny, but I am feeling a bit sorry for myself. I know this 7 pounds will take upwards of 6 months to lose, even with great effort. Heck, I've been doing Stroller Strides since March and haven't lost a pound. I'm much stronger and way more fit, but any lighter- no.

So, just venting. I know you ladies will understand that.

Thanks for listening...
B