Hello! It's been awhile since I've had a chance to update on here. Lets cut right to the chase, since I have 30 minutes left on this computer. It's about the bump thats developing in the navel area....it is not the potatoes alone that I have craved, nope, and it's not even just the pasta that even the meanest of midwives could not stop me from eating. It's the rainbow baby. The 4 months gestated rainbow baby, actually. I realize that many of you who may be reading this may be caught offguard and are likely wondering why I have not told you in person, but as the mother of a baby who was laid in her grave not six months ago I reserve the right to be wierd and nonsensical.
Truth is, I am not up to facing the many opinions that will undoubtably wind their ways through the small town where I was born. I'm not up for the assumptions of how I must be feeling now about this baby. Of the scattered, random assortment of people I have let in on the secret I have already noticed a variety of assumptions - "Oh no! Be careful! You never know, maybe this one will be ok if you try hard!" or "Wonderful, now everything is happy for you again!" or "You must be worried sick." It's only natural to imagin how you would feel in this situation. Thus, I've chosen to keep it as much to myself as possible and feel about it no other way than the way that I feel about it. I feel fine, and I'm not worried, but no; everything is not happy for me because I am now expecting a baby that is presumably going to be perfectly healthy.
There is also an undeniable humility that accompanies the 7th pregnancy of someone who, as a student of midwifery, spends a great deal of time preaching on the normalcy of pregnancy and birth. I feel a bit lame and pathetic because I have only managed to pull off what I openly believe once of the seven attempts. Shopping in the maternity section feels like I'm trying to hang with the big girls, like I have no place there at all. You know that one fat kid who knows everything about basketball and tries out for the team every year while the whole school shakes their heads sadly since they know he will never make the cut? Yeah.
Not to sound depressing! No, I'm just trying to explain away why it took me nearly half my pregnancy to tell people. And my apologies do go out to those who I should have called weeks ago. Or at least before posting this. But I've started to have a bump and I still don't really feel like talking about it, so this is the way it's going to be. There is a strange and glorious feeling in the calmness of this pregnancy. Nothing awful is happening, nothing. By this time with Phoebe I'd already spent Christmas week on bedrest and would be learning of the heart defect in three more weeks. It's almost eery how calm the seas have been. Normal...
So yes, thats where I'm at. I've made this special effort to get to the library to write this blog because well, a grief counselor told me too. I enjoy writting in here, getting ya'lls feedback and support. I want to be in ship shape by the time this baby comes, and hopefully not have too much emotional baggage around my neck. For whatever reason blogging seems to help.
Monday, September 26, 2011
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
An Extra Dimension
Eeep! It's been awhile. It's August already. Phoebe would have been pretty big by now! I was caught off guard recently when a mom and her baby came for their final postpartum appointment - 6 weeks since the birth. The baby had been due within days of Phoebe's due date. Weird. The baby has added another dimension to the happy family, as all babies do, even dead ones.
My family has settled into a comfortable place of acceptance. We have another dimension that most families don't. It is actually pretty cool having a family member on the "other side". She's officially not silent, go on and think I'm a crazy mother of a dead baby wishing for some significance to this sad story, but things are the way they are, and we get little messages pretty regularly. Usually by way of her big brother. I can pshaw that feeling of spiritual presence til the end of the world, but the things Jonah comes up with are not pshaw-able.
Recently he woke from a long nap with a peel of his own laughter. I poked him and said, "Well why are YOU so happy?!" Giggling, he replied, "It's Phoebe!"
The kid is two years old....there isn't much we say to him about this. The question loomed before us of how to explain death to him once we found out she would die; we settled on a simple "She's at Jesus' House" without elaborating. The last blog entry I put in told about how he explained to me that she's at a playground and laughing and all. More recently, when he chattered on about his baby "brudder" (brother....haha) the conversation went something like this,
"She's laughing, but she misses Jonesy. And she misses mommy and daddy. And, hey! She's...." *leaps from coffee table to couch pretending to be super hero* "She's waitin' for mom. And she's my baby brudder."
I was so jealous when I read, shortly after the birth and death, about a mom who had lost a baby and found the image of a cross on the baby's chest. It was a bruise on the baby, but it was a perfect little cross and it gave her comfort because it seemed to be a sign that the baby belonged somewhere else and with Someone else. I have always been so impatient....
So yea. That's all I have to share today. Life with a little spirit hanging around is exciting! Every morning I find myself hoping Jojo will have more to tell. I'm guessing the messages can't last forever...he'll reach the age of reason and sending them might not be as easy since it takes the doubtless faith of a child to not think it's "just a dream" or one's "imagination" or whateva'....so I hope he talks bit more before then so we don't have to wait til we see her on the other side.
My family has settled into a comfortable place of acceptance. We have another dimension that most families don't. It is actually pretty cool having a family member on the "other side". She's officially not silent, go on and think I'm a crazy mother of a dead baby wishing for some significance to this sad story, but things are the way they are, and we get little messages pretty regularly. Usually by way of her big brother. I can pshaw that feeling of spiritual presence til the end of the world, but the things Jonah comes up with are not pshaw-able.
Recently he woke from a long nap with a peel of his own laughter. I poked him and said, "Well why are YOU so happy?!" Giggling, he replied, "It's Phoebe!"
The kid is two years old....there isn't much we say to him about this. The question loomed before us of how to explain death to him once we found out she would die; we settled on a simple "She's at Jesus' House" without elaborating. The last blog entry I put in told about how he explained to me that she's at a playground and laughing and all. More recently, when he chattered on about his baby "brudder" (brother....haha) the conversation went something like this,
"She's laughing, but she misses Jonesy. And she misses mommy and daddy. And, hey! She's...." *leaps from coffee table to couch pretending to be super hero* "She's waitin' for mom. And she's my baby brudder."
I was so jealous when I read, shortly after the birth and death, about a mom who had lost a baby and found the image of a cross on the baby's chest. It was a bruise on the baby, but it was a perfect little cross and it gave her comfort because it seemed to be a sign that the baby belonged somewhere else and with Someone else. I have always been so impatient....
So yea. That's all I have to share today. Life with a little spirit hanging around is exciting! Every morning I find myself hoping Jojo will have more to tell. I'm guessing the messages can't last forever...he'll reach the age of reason and sending them might not be as easy since it takes the doubtless faith of a child to not think it's "just a dream" or one's "imagination" or whateva'....so I hope he talks bit more before then so we don't have to wait til we see her on the other side.
Friday, July 15, 2011
More Than Just Intuition?
I was recently reading a book, and I came to a part where a woman remembered miscarrying her baby. Those things always make me remember MY losses. Jonah was happily watching an old Gumby cartoon, but he then turned to me and said sorrowfully, "You miss Toebe, mommy?" I wiped the tear off my face that had slipped out. "Yea, I miss Phoebe." Jonah replied, "Don't worry mommy, she's alright." A chubby hand grabbed my chin and turned my face so that I was looking him squarely in the face. "She went to Jesus' house. And she's like...laughing. Like she's at a playground." He just turned 2 years old in April, so this is one of the better sentences he has put together.
Ten minutes later, once we had returned to our respective activities (me to me book, he to his cartoon), he turned to me and said, "Toebe's sad wif mommy." "Sad?" I asked, " But you said she was laughing!" Chubby face serious, he said, "Mmhmm. Sad wif you, mommy." A dimpled hand was then placed directly over my battered heart, "She sad wif you right der."
Ten minutes later, once we had returned to our respective activities (me to me book, he to his cartoon), he turned to me and said, "Toebe's sad wif mommy." "Sad?" I asked, " But you said she was laughing!" Chubby face serious, he said, "Mmhmm. Sad wif you, mommy." A dimpled hand was then placed directly over my battered heart, "She sad wif you right der."
Friday, June 17, 2011
Attitude Adjustment
Oh dear, oh dear. Lets just say it like it is: I've been pretty bitchy lately. Ungrateful for the many ways God has blessed me, and cranky about the ways He has tested me. I know it wasn't long ago that I blogged in a state of euphoria about how He held me close and comforted my broken heart, but things changed as time grew between Phoebe and me. It seemed that God was nowhere to be found, even when I begged for just a little "sign" of sorts... I kept thinking to myself that once we dealt with our loss of Phoebe as graciously as we could, He might give us some awesome break. Win the lotto or something. I've never once doubted that He exists, but recently I have asked myself, "Whats the point of praying if apparently He never listens?" Silly me.
Here's the back story: I thought God was giving us our "break" when we found our dream home for sale. It was a gorgeous old farmhouse on a few acres of land perfectly suited for a few horses, chickens, and a cow. It even had another building on site that would have made a perfect shop for Paul's future woodworking business. $67,000.We prayed and prayed, faithfully asking Phoebe's intercession and believing she would "find a way" since she owes us big time. We put in our offer the very first business day after we saw the house. Paul drove out to Winchester to place the offer and was told if he'd been there just two hours earlier we would have got the house; meanwhile, I was checking my email and learning that our tenant was ditching us 4 months into a year lease and had no plans to pay us for the last month. Earlier that same day another important event took place, one that was so close to our hearts - I went to get my blood tested to try to find out why I miscarry like I do. We had hoped it would just be low progesterone, because that is a common problem and pretty easy to fix. The blood work came back perfectly normal, with no answer for our problem.
So it came to pass I arrived at a point of despair and hopelessness. I couldn't remember how to pray, what to pray, or why to pray. I bitched and bitched - ask Paul! Crazy bitchy... I envisioned all those babies I carried and ache for every day partying it up in Heaven with God, and all of them having too much fun to hear me when I cried for help.
Then there was this homily by a guest Priest last Sunday. He said, "If it's clearly not the voice of the Holy Spirit you hear, then obviously it's somebody else...if it's saying evil things about our Lord, then you can bet it's not a Heavenly being." Creepy huh? And me, such a sucker. Of course God is listening, and as for the break....well, I still think He could handle giving us some magical sign or something fun like that, but if the break is simply peace of heart that comes with leaning on Jesus, why then, it's been within my reach all along!
I told the girls at our Women's Bible Study about my hard headedness. It's so clear from another's perspective. They all agreed I should simply tell Satan to get the crap away from me and don't come back. Ah! Novel idea. Why didn't I think of it myself? I'll just tell him where to put it. Problem solved.
The Magnificat must have been designed by God for me personally. (Sorry, fellow Magnificat readers...lol) Bible Study was just last night, so in my first return to it this morning this poem was the beginning of the devotion:
Here's the back story: I thought God was giving us our "break" when we found our dream home for sale. It was a gorgeous old farmhouse on a few acres of land perfectly suited for a few horses, chickens, and a cow. It even had another building on site that would have made a perfect shop for Paul's future woodworking business. $67,000.We prayed and prayed, faithfully asking Phoebe's intercession and believing she would "find a way" since she owes us big time. We put in our offer the very first business day after we saw the house. Paul drove out to Winchester to place the offer and was told if he'd been there just two hours earlier we would have got the house; meanwhile, I was checking my email and learning that our tenant was ditching us 4 months into a year lease and had no plans to pay us for the last month. Earlier that same day another important event took place, one that was so close to our hearts - I went to get my blood tested to try to find out why I miscarry like I do. We had hoped it would just be low progesterone, because that is a common problem and pretty easy to fix. The blood work came back perfectly normal, with no answer for our problem.
So it came to pass I arrived at a point of despair and hopelessness. I couldn't remember how to pray, what to pray, or why to pray. I bitched and bitched - ask Paul! Crazy bitchy... I envisioned all those babies I carried and ache for every day partying it up in Heaven with God, and all of them having too much fun to hear me when I cried for help.
Then there was this homily by a guest Priest last Sunday. He said, "If it's clearly not the voice of the Holy Spirit you hear, then obviously it's somebody else...if it's saying evil things about our Lord, then you can bet it's not a Heavenly being." Creepy huh? And me, such a sucker. Of course God is listening, and as for the break....well, I still think He could handle giving us some magical sign or something fun like that, but if the break is simply peace of heart that comes with leaning on Jesus, why then, it's been within my reach all along!
I told the girls at our Women's Bible Study about my hard headedness. It's so clear from another's perspective. They all agreed I should simply tell Satan to get the crap away from me and don't come back. Ah! Novel idea. Why didn't I think of it myself? I'll just tell him where to put it. Problem solved.
The Magnificat must have been designed by God for me personally. (Sorry, fellow Magnificat readers...lol) Bible Study was just last night, so in my first return to it this morning this poem was the beginning of the devotion:
Come, let us to the Lord our God
With contrite hearts return;
Our God is gracious nor will leave
The desolate to mourn.
Seriously? I mean, really! Does that not fit my current situation to a T? Following was Psalm 6, and this is definitely what jumped out at me, after having been advised by the bible study girls as mentioned previously:
Leave me alone, all you who do evil;
For the Lord has heard my weeping.
The Lord has heard my plea;
The Lord will accept my prayer.
All my foes will retire in confusion,
Foiled and suddenly confounded.
Yes, an attitude adjustment is in order. What I need to stop believing is that something incredible will happen to Paul, Jonah, and I just because we were pretty good sports about losing Phoebe. No more hoping for a jack pot lotto ticket that will pay our way into a gloriously distracting vacation, no more setting hopes on dream homes. Nothing more like that because the thing is - and God knows it - they wouldn't help anyway.
PS -
I especially like the idea of sending off my foes confused, foiled, and suddenly confounded. Mwahaha!
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
Birth
Over Memorial Day weekend I went to my first birth since the birth of my own baby. So lovely. A long, difficult labor that was all worth it in the end when an absolutely flawless baby girl entered the world wide eyed and just beautiful in every way. Long labors are obviously hard for the mom, but let me tell ya something, it ain't easy on the midwives and assistants either! Forty one hours after we arrived at the birth center we left, and the parents left with their little one.
I have to ask: what sort of God tells someone to enter the birth profession who has also been asked to bury their newborn baby? Trust me, if it weren't that I knew better, I'd have to say that He must be a real butt-head, but seeing as, in addition to requiring much of me, He has also treated me to all sorts of nice things I will go with saying He must be awfully "mysterious". I remember when dawn came on Monday morning as the mom continued to labor on and on. The birds started chirping a little while before the sun came up. As hard a time as she was having I wished with all my heart that I could be in her shoes instead of mine. The birds chirped just before the sun came up on that grave morning as I was wheeled slowly out of the hospital, arms empty except for a little purple box with her blanket, hat, footprints, and a book on healthy grieving.
I just love birth. It's not fair that after witnessing such an awesome event I leave crying and feeling lonelier than ever. It's not fair that I have been brought to this place in which I understand to some extent the miracle of what is going on.....it's not fair that it's for everyone else, but not for me. I wish I could have known all of this before Jonah was born. I would have relished every minute of it.
There came a time 2 and 1/2 hours after that adorable little person was born that I indulged briefly in allowing my mind to return to my recent experience of birth, and I was so glad that baby was still alive and so alert, not cold and dead.
I got home at 3AM and didn't see Jonah til the next morning of course. When I did see him I explained why I'd been gone the past few days by saying that I was at the birth of a new baby. It's not fair that his response was, "Oh. Baby go to Jesus' house?"
I don't know about this whole thing. I must be insane to do this midwifery stuff. But I'd be insane not to, too...
PS-
Perfect. Just perfect. Exactly what I need right now....another reason to bawl my eyes out! As I sat her crying and writing this, Jojo walks up and hugs me, and said sadly "I miss Toebe too." Intuitive lil guy. Then, with a hopeful and encouraging smile he looks me square in the eyes exclaiming: "Jesus' House!!" UGH!!!
I have to ask: what sort of God tells someone to enter the birth profession who has also been asked to bury their newborn baby? Trust me, if it weren't that I knew better, I'd have to say that He must be a real butt-head, but seeing as, in addition to requiring much of me, He has also treated me to all sorts of nice things I will go with saying He must be awfully "mysterious". I remember when dawn came on Monday morning as the mom continued to labor on and on. The birds started chirping a little while before the sun came up. As hard a time as she was having I wished with all my heart that I could be in her shoes instead of mine. The birds chirped just before the sun came up on that grave morning as I was wheeled slowly out of the hospital, arms empty except for a little purple box with her blanket, hat, footprints, and a book on healthy grieving.
I just love birth. It's not fair that after witnessing such an awesome event I leave crying and feeling lonelier than ever. It's not fair that I have been brought to this place in which I understand to some extent the miracle of what is going on.....it's not fair that it's for everyone else, but not for me. I wish I could have known all of this before Jonah was born. I would have relished every minute of it.
There came a time 2 and 1/2 hours after that adorable little person was born that I indulged briefly in allowing my mind to return to my recent experience of birth, and I was so glad that baby was still alive and so alert, not cold and dead.
I got home at 3AM and didn't see Jonah til the next morning of course. When I did see him I explained why I'd been gone the past few days by saying that I was at the birth of a new baby. It's not fair that his response was, "Oh. Baby go to Jesus' house?"
I don't know about this whole thing. I must be insane to do this midwifery stuff. But I'd be insane not to, too...
PS-
Perfect. Just perfect. Exactly what I need right now....another reason to bawl my eyes out! As I sat her crying and writing this, Jojo walks up and hugs me, and said sadly "I miss Toebe too." Intuitive lil guy. Then, with a hopeful and encouraging smile he looks me square in the eyes exclaiming: "Jesus' House!!" UGH!!!
Thursday, May 26, 2011
Fearfully, Wonferfully, Skillfully Made
Hey guess what? I think I'm out of the initial postpartum phase. Yay! If I lived a hundred years ago I would take out my regular clothes and put away the black dress. I'm ready to head on with normal life while cherishing a memory of a day gone by. The hormones (blasted lil bugars) have made moving on without a baby quite a lot worse. My mind can rest easy, but I'll say it again - God made us moms to love those babies a whole lot. I mean, for the past 6 weeks I couldn't drive past a pet store without considering stopping just because my body is wired to be holding a baby and heck, if I don't have my own, a puppy or chubby little hamster must be better than nothing, right? The good news is, I believe my body has caught up with my mind and no longer is producing hormones that make me physically miss her as well as emotionally. Goodbye and good riddance!
What I've been thinking about lately is how there is not a second of this experience that I would wish away. I know I've blogged on that line of thought before and this is becoming very redundant, but for whatever reason it seems to help me, so...redundant it shall stay. I just, well, I dunno. I browse other blogs and read books for people who have lost babies. It seems to me that the standard way of viewing the death of a baby is by looking at it as though it is a huge tragedy that should have never happened, and by golly that baby should be alive. I'm addressing you other mama's of "defective" babies when I say this: I believe our babies were made perfectly, lovingly, meticulously woven in our wombs just exactly how they were. I find myself almost defensive about Phoebe's little deformed heart. It was a perfect little heart! So what if it wasn't compatible with this life. She was just different - and now I know why we use the term "special" - her heart was a special heart that God blessed her with. I don't like people calling it defective. If you could have seen her...she was perfect. Not defective. What I'm trying to get at is that it doesn't matter if she couldn't live because of it. She is living with it still; it's pure and perfect and as happy as can be. Gosh. How do some of you make it through this without taking a look at the promises of Jesus?
So, the tragedy thing. I guess it's a tragedy for our family. I mean, yeah, we're all devastated. But then again, the whole experience was a wild ride - a huge blessing! We rejoiced in finding out that I was expecting. We counted down each week. We felt her kick - saw my belly moving around when Paul would talk real close. We chose adorable little girl onesies. We saw her twiddling with her fingers on the ultrasound screen. Labor, birth. We had a new baby last month. And then, we gave her back to God. Whirlwind!!!! I mean huge, right?! It's something else, being present at a death. Similar to birth, I suppose. I just keep trying to imagine myself being inside a womb and helping the baby out from in there. She was born into a world that I know nothing of yet. She's gone from my sight until the day of MY birth....and then it will all make sense and I will know how right I was in thinking it's all going to be okay. ( :
Phoebe is a nice addition to our family. She sure changed us.
What I've been thinking about lately is how there is not a second of this experience that I would wish away. I know I've blogged on that line of thought before and this is becoming very redundant, but for whatever reason it seems to help me, so...redundant it shall stay. I just, well, I dunno. I browse other blogs and read books for people who have lost babies. It seems to me that the standard way of viewing the death of a baby is by looking at it as though it is a huge tragedy that should have never happened, and by golly that baby should be alive. I'm addressing you other mama's of "defective" babies when I say this: I believe our babies were made perfectly, lovingly, meticulously woven in our wombs just exactly how they were. I find myself almost defensive about Phoebe's little deformed heart. It was a perfect little heart! So what if it wasn't compatible with this life. She was just different - and now I know why we use the term "special" - her heart was a special heart that God blessed her with. I don't like people calling it defective. If you could have seen her...she was perfect. Not defective. What I'm trying to get at is that it doesn't matter if she couldn't live because of it. She is living with it still; it's pure and perfect and as happy as can be. Gosh. How do some of you make it through this without taking a look at the promises of Jesus?
So, the tragedy thing. I guess it's a tragedy for our family. I mean, yeah, we're all devastated. But then again, the whole experience was a wild ride - a huge blessing! We rejoiced in finding out that I was expecting. We counted down each week. We felt her kick - saw my belly moving around when Paul would talk real close. We chose adorable little girl onesies. We saw her twiddling with her fingers on the ultrasound screen. Labor, birth. We had a new baby last month. And then, we gave her back to God. Whirlwind!!!! I mean huge, right?! It's something else, being present at a death. Similar to birth, I suppose. I just keep trying to imagine myself being inside a womb and helping the baby out from in there. She was born into a world that I know nothing of yet. She's gone from my sight until the day of MY birth....and then it will all make sense and I will know how right I was in thinking it's all going to be okay. ( :
Phoebe is a nice addition to our family. She sure changed us.
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
Jonah's Reminiscence
Jonah, my son, is two. He turned two just a week after Phoebe was born. He did get to meet her while she was alive, but it was the middle of the night and I have wondered and worried that he wouldn't remember his little sister.
Tonight as I held him he fiddled with a necklace I wear that was given to me by a friend to remember Phoebe by. It has her name inscribed on it. (I love it!) He fiddled with it, and I have told him over and over that I wear it so we can remember Phoebe. He played with it and said "Phoebe" a few times, but then to my great joy he went to her picture and said "Phoebe!" And THEN - now this just breaks my heart - he reached his hand under my shirt and peered down to the only place he had ever seen his little sister; resting on my chest. I guess he was looking for her, but she wasn't there.
Is it just me in my mommy pride or is this story super cute?
It gets better! He went back to the picture of his tiny baby sister and cried proudly, "My brother!!!"
Jonah closed out the conversation with this keen observation, "Phoebe's sleeping."
Tonight as I held him he fiddled with a necklace I wear that was given to me by a friend to remember Phoebe by. It has her name inscribed on it. (I love it!) He fiddled with it, and I have told him over and over that I wear it so we can remember Phoebe. He played with it and said "Phoebe" a few times, but then to my great joy he went to her picture and said "Phoebe!" And THEN - now this just breaks my heart - he reached his hand under my shirt and peered down to the only place he had ever seen his little sister; resting on my chest. I guess he was looking for her, but she wasn't there.
Is it just me in my mommy pride or is this story super cute?
It gets better! He went back to the picture of his tiny baby sister and cried proudly, "My brother!!!"
Jonah closed out the conversation with this keen observation, "Phoebe's sleeping."
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