lillia's birth story

So let me just preface this story by saying that from the minute I was pregnant, I could not wait for labor just so that I could try for a bit more of a normal birth this time. Bella's birth was long and difficult and even though it was wonderful and life changing, and it was natural as I had hoped, it was not really my body's doing, and I looked forward to the possibility of an easier second baby.


On top of that, I had no real idea what to expect - this baby was so different right from the start (another reason I thought it would be a boy!), and had so much room to swim around in there. I ended up almost twice the size I was with Bella, but we also survived the chicken pox and two stomach bugs, one of which was only a week ago, so I wasn't sure just how big this baby would be.


My due date was originally the 17th, but we moved it to the 20th since Bella was late and my periods were 31 days long. As much as I wanted to have this baby a bit early, I really didn't want my mom to miss the birth and she was flying in from the other side of the country at 3pm on the 16th. I thought I was going to go into labor while I was sick with the flu, and baby would get here before my mom, but luckily once I could eat again things went back to normal.


I kept expecting my water to break since that's how labor started with Bella, but I was surprised when I woke up at 4am on the 16th and it actually HAD broken. At first I thought I was imagining it since it was not the gush I had with Bella, and my contractions only got a little bit stronger. I called my mom to tell her that this baby has a sense of humor and I'd try my best to lie down and relax in hopes that I'd still be in labor in 12 hours when my mom arrived. I knew I was already at least 3cm from my midwife's visit two days previous. I alerted the troops and went back to sleep until 7:30, something I'd been unable to do with Bella's labor.


I planned to have lots of people attend this labor. I knew I wouldn't have a doula - I tend to just zone into myself anyhow, but I knew I'd need the moral support and help with Bella, and all the people I wanted to come have nursing babies, so I'd need lots of backups. The first one arrived at 7:30 to play mom and clean up. She's a godsend. I'd been planning to make this day my clean up day, whoops!

My contractions were not picking up. Just as my braxton hicks contractions had been with Bella, they were every 3-5 minutes round the clock starting a week or two before labor and I just got used to ignoring them. These had gotten stronger when my water first started leaking, but they did not escalate. Around 1pm we decided to go on a walk because even if it kicked me into high gear my mom ought to still make it in time. No luck! We all relaxed and napped and then spent the remainder of the afternoon baking and trying to kick up my contractions.

No matter what I tried, nothing worked and stuck. My mom arrived at 4, and the midwife arrived around 6. By then I felt my dream of having a daytime birth slipping away (I had a photographer coming, see!). Ann gave me a 2 minute round of antibiotics and then we went into the bedroom to pop my water for good, since it was obviously a high leak. It gushed everywhere and squirted every time I laughed at just how much water there was. At this point I was around 5cm, but still the contractions were extremely manageable so we had dinner and started some homeopathy.

During Bella's labor I hadn't worn my compression stalkings, so I couldn't stand up. This time I decided that no matter how annoying and uncomfortable they were, laboring upright was most effective and most pain relieving, so it was worth the discomfort. Around 8 my midwife went out to dinner. The second she shut the door my water broke again and soaked through my diaper (teehee) and my pants and onto the floor. Surprisingly enough my contractions still did not pick up.


When my midwife got back around 8:30 we went for another check. I was so relaxed with her that just her touch brought me a whole centimeter farther, to 7cm now. My cervix was still completely posterior at this point, and Ann found that Lillia's head wasn't even engaged. She was still floating around in the Carribean, and if Ann touched her she could still maneuver her.


However, on this check, the water dams let loose. It was comical just how much water there was, and it kept coming. She was having to roll up the edges of the pad to dam the water and we called for her assistant to bring some more. When she got to the door, Alyssa stopped and stared at all the water, and every time I laughed even more came out. She said in all her 100 births she had never seen so much water. That last break was about a half a gallon, and now we were thinking baby might be smaller than we thought. On the next contraction, Lillia's head engaged and it wasn't long before the contractions picked up as well.

Unfortunately, even with my tights on (thank God for them!) the pressure of her head was more than my leg could take and it was like having a second contraction down my leg in between every labor contraction. I was having trouble standing up anymore, but when I sat on my beloved birthing stool the contractions slowed down for some reason. When I was confident that they were strong enough, I hopped in the tub. (Let the record show that it is now 10:30.) After that, everything gets very very hazy.

I had no idea what to do with the first contraction in the water. Until now, I had been laboring alone, swaying back and forth and pushing my head into the counter top. In the tub I had nowhere to push against and panicked. During this pregnancy, I always had increased contractions while sitting and while in the tub, and this was no different. I had to resist the urge to get out of the tub because of how strong the contractions suddenly were. Rationally, I knew they would just feel worse out of the tub and that I was just uncomfortable with transition.


Ann checked me and found that I was at 9cm, but my cervix was still completely posterior, facing my sacrum. She tried her best to bring it around with her fingers during a few different contractions, but the pain was just too much for me. I am so grateful to her that she stopped when I asked her to, because it was that moment that made me realize that I was in charge of this labor and that I had it in me to push the baby out on my own. On the very next contraction after she let me go, I pushed as hard as I could and felt Lillia slip right into the birth canal. It was the turning point in my labor. It of course intensified everything, but everything here on out was productive.


I could hear my self yelling and crying with every contraction, which surprised me since I had not done that at Bella's birth, but could not have stopped if I tried. The yells had to come out, just like the contractions. I had one yell that woke up the babies in the house, which ended up lucky since after a day of no nap, Bella had finally succumbed to sleep and I had SO hoped that she would be there to witness the baby's entrance into the world, so that she would truly understand. In between contractions I could hear everyone chatting away and generally enjoying the company, and it was the most wonderful feeling, even though it seemed like they were on a different planet. The atmosphere was just so loving and exciting and it brought me through the pain.

When I finally gave into the queasies, I had the worst vomit I've ever had in my life (which is saying something since I had that disastrous flu just a few months ago) and it burned my throat so badly that I couldn't stop coughing. It hurt so much that when a contraction started and I wasn't ready for it, my body stopped it half way through so that I could get the taste out of my mouth and try to calm my throat down. I was amazed that my body could do such a thing.

When I came out of that pain, I opened my eyes and looked around to a whole room full of people. I don't know why I was surprised since I'd been listening to them chat for the past hour, but I realized I literally hadn't opened my eyes since that very first water contraction.

From what I'm told I rolled over into a lounging position and chatted for a few minutes. I don't remember anything specifically, but I do remember this being my favorite part of the night, knowing I was in the home stretch. The pushing stage was about to start and I was actually aware and in control, something that was very important to me. Of course, I never felt like I could handle the contractions when I was IN one, but I had my team cheering me on, and after each one the pain was gone, which wasn't the case earlier.

I pushed Lillia down as hard as I could, and was so disappointed that this wasn't the end. Ann told me to reach up and feel her just an inch away from crowning, but I was mad that she was so far away, so I didn't want to. When she finally did start crowning, I couldn't believe how gigantic she seemed! With Bella I don't recall any sensations of her moving down the canal, I was too touched out and exhausted from having pushed for 4 hours.


I knew I didn't want to tear, but I was so sick of being almost done and the recommended blowing was so painful that I fully gave into the push sensation. I could feel her slide back up at the end of every contraction, which was so disappointing to me, though Ann encouraged it for a slow delivery. I couldn't believe when her head finally popped out and I had a moment to rest completely pain free. We checked for a cord, but again I was too touched out and didn't want anyone touching me. I believe it was the very next push and her body popped out. I reached down to grab her, but the cord was wrapped under her arm, so we had to maneuver her just above the water but under her cord so I could hold her.

And then we were done. Ahhhhh. Well, almost. I actually had to put effort into the afterbirth, and I was surprised by how strong the after pains were, too. I hadn't had any at all with Bella.


So, Lillia Morgan (it took me about half an hour to remember the middle name we had picked out for her - and I have it on video, me going... uhm, it was two syllables, didn't end in a vowel, started with an m....) weighed in at 7lb 15.5oz, 21" long, with a 13.75" head. Smaller dimensions than her sister, but heavier by half a pound. We took bets and no one could believe she ended up bigger than Bella, especially after we learned that my belly was entirely water. :O)


Come to find out, that after a whole day of waiting and being so excited that I'd have my baby on 6-16 and my cousin (whose birthday is 6-17) was out of danger of having to share, I had Lillia fifteen minutes after midnight. Sigh. So now I have to remember 6-17. I had told everyone not to discuss time with me (as it can ruin the zoning-out of labor), and they did their best to encourage me on, knowing I wanted her on 6-16. I'm so glad they didn't tell my why they were so eager to cheer me on, though. :P Lillia came out at just the speed she needed to, physically and emotionally. It was such a dreamy labor, and a night I won't soon forget. (But really, Lillia, fifteen minutes? I knew you were a prankster.)

The End.

(ps go here to see the awesome photos my photographer took!)

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cling

We've been sick again, imagine that. Another, much milder stomach bug made it through our house and prevented us from eating all week (way to spend week 38, so much for a chubby baby). I wasn't sure that I was sick at first. I thought it was end-of-pregnancy symptoms and I thought I might die of fatigue, and was in tears wondering how I was going to birth a baby while this tired and then care for two of them this way. I put Bella up with the tv, fell into the couch and tried not to feel overwhelmed and guilty all day.

And then the clouds lifted and I realized the fatigue was a symptom of the bug. Poor Bella got it next and she cuddled on me all day -literally- staring off into space. That is exactly how I felt, and as sad as I was to see her that way, I was glad it wasn't all in my head.

Even without the bug, Bella has never been such a velcro baby in her life. I mean, this is a child that comes to us and fills up with love and then goes out into the world and spreads it around to complete strangers. When she's ready for a refill, she needs it Right Now, but then she's all set. This month I would classify her as an introvert, and it's so strange to see. She's magnetically attracted to me and would spend the entire day in my arms, cuddling my belly if she could.

She's always seemed so big, so independent to me. She goes to the potty on her own. She hands over money when we're shopping and throws trash away on her own. She opens doors by herself. She can reach the counter and move stools for light switches. Not to mention in our social group she is one of the oldest babies.

Last week we went to a park just as a rowdy group of seven girls came swirling in. They kept calling her baby, cooing over her and telling her that certain pieces of playground were to big for her. (Actually it was one of those annoying parks where ALL the pieces were too big to make sure little kids couldn't climb very well even though it was a shrimpy little playground.) It was a shock for me to see just how little she looked, how timid (she's not much of a climber so she tends to just hang around and stare at people at the park.), how truly BABY she was. I had been getting ready to make her into a big sister, and suddenly I panicked. She's so tiny. She's only been on this planet two years. How am I going to fill her up when she needs it so badly?

This month, lunch and dinner are much better when the are spent in my lap. Stairs require my hand to accomplish. She wakes up in the middle of the night crying out for me and ends up in my arms all night long. As I write this she is sitting in my lap playing with her stuffies, occasionally standing up so she can put her head on my shoulder and rock. And there's no way I can resist, knowing that this luxury of extra time and extra arms will be cut short soon. There's no point in hurting us both by pushing her away just to get her used to it. I'll take all the cuddles I can get and hope they fill her up somewhat before baby gets here.

My mom comes tomorrow. It looks like bitty baby will wait for her after all (but not much longer, I hope!). After much thought, I've decided that yes, I am ready for bitty baby to come. I can't wait to meet the little pinball inside, and I can't wait to see my babies meet each other. And I'll be glad to have my mom here to help out even just with Bella. But keep those cuddles coming, baby. You'll never be too big for them -they're the best feeling in the world.

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a more recent update

So how's this pregnancy going? Good. I can't complain. Well, I mean I shouldn't, but I do. Of course. Me and my stack of five cookies sitting next to me.

I've been a bit absent in life. I haven't even had many shoots lately. My mojo has just been elsewhere. I'm huddling up with my baby (who refuses to nap), trying to soak up enough US cuddles to carry us through the complications that will soon arise in our relationship.

We had a few sunny days in which I didn't want to do anything but be outside. Sun burns galore. Oh how it was worth it. We haven't seen the sun since. I've been sewing up presents for the mamas I know who are due in June with me (one of them had hers this week, over achiever). I've been knitting a photo prop blanket (but nothing for baby, seriously I just hate knitting baby stuff) that sheds embarrassingly all over everything (but will look great in photos!), and I've been trying to catch up on my thousands of photos that I have yet to look at from April and May. Bella gave us all a sinus cold, and the fatigue as I recover is just overwhelming. It's very hard to look at the computer, let alone use it productively (and did I mention how my own computer is broken, so typing is very hard and mostly I am just stalking people?).

Anyhow. I digress.

This baby has so much more room than Bella. It makes for a much more relaxing pregnancy, but I'm so not used to it and I keep getting stuck places or scraping my belly on doorways and chairs.

But what a personality this kid has! I still have no inkling of boy or girl. Most days I think boy, and then I'll be lying there, cuddling Bella as she lifts my shirt to cuddle my belly, and suddlenly GIRL! pops into my head. All I know is that Bella held grudges even when she was on the inside. She would spend hours a day pushing on my rib cage, flopping left to right. She wasn't much of a kicker, just a solid uncomfortable wedger. With pokey little fingers that would prod me in places few others would dare. If I pushed against Bella, she'd push back harder, and dare I say - meaner. True to herself, she did not want to be told what to do or coerced into a kinder position.

This kid is bubbly in comparison. This kid has a sense of humor, and does not get offended easily. There are some days that I seriously lose my patience because I am just. so. sick. of being a pinball machine. It's funny, until you can't concentrate or can't sleep, OR it wakes up your toddler. This one's always awake, it seems. And rarely has the hiccups, which is nice since that is one thing I just can't stand. When it's inside me and out of my control, I start to lose my mind.

I do have to put in a mention to Bella. She is in love with the baby in my belly and would cuddle all day long if she could. Shirt up, or course. Baby ah keek is what she says all the time. I'm not sure she's really figured out the kicks - she doesn't stay still long enough to feel them when she's awake. Does she know baby is coming? I think so. Does she know baby will be here to stay? I just don't know. She has become immensely clingy in the past few weeks, and no one but mama will do. I don't want anyone but me to do. I wish I were all hers.

As of this weekend baby is full term. June is an open book for us. Baby is allowed to come any day in June. But please, please don't make me wait til the end.

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whoops. one from the archives

Yeah. So I wrote this back at the end of March, 3 months from my due date, two months ago. I can't let writing go to waste, so here you are. The photos are from March, too, so don't be fooled. I'm much bigger now. :O)

(i promise an update soon. and bella's letter. her birthday was a month ago now... my oh my am i behind.)

My belly has officially popped. Not in that little, Oh what a cute bump! way, but in that Wow, this time I might actually have trouble looking over my belly soon kind of way.

With the pop and drop that has just occurred, I'm realizing a few things. My heartburn is so much more manageable this time. And I still have room for food! By this time with Bella I was already starting to sleep upright because she literally housed herself well into my ribs. This baby is much lower. And due to that fact, this baby tends to kick me MUCH lower in my sides, right above my hips (Bella was a fan of upper rib kicks and bladder pokes.) where I am actually ticklish. I'll classify it as endearingly annoying.

On the other hand, a low baby (apart from gender wives' tales) means that despite working 10 hours a week instead of 40, my unhappy little veins have kicked into full gear. Not a moment too soon, since I JUST got my granny pants in the mail. Yes, I wear granny pants. I have re-dubbed them... SUPERTIGHTS!

They make me think I can do more than I should (er, ignoring my 10lb lift restriction much?) so that I can enjoy my days and regret them later. They are quite restricting to say the least (well, they are in fact compression hose so that's a no-brainer) but they greatly reduce the number of nights I lie awake from shooting pains down my leg. And yet, because they make me think I can spend more hours upright per day than I should, once again, I forget to take it easy. Thus, (at least for this allergy season) I am cursed with the dreaded snee. Oh well. (It sounds like this around here: achoo. Achoo!!! Achooohcrapphoeyexcuseme.)

All for a good cause, I suppose.

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a very happy day

Just popping in to wish my beautiful baby girl a happy birthday.

I'm so very very excited. I hope this year she understands a bit the significance of the day. The candles are hers to blow out, the singing is hers to enjoy, and the company is there just for her.

All because the world is a better place with her in it. I am a better person because of her.

It makes me teary and grinny all at once to think just how much she lights up my life, and I cannot wait to celebrate it this year.

Two years ago I woke up at 3am to a tiny splish of water, I pushed all afternoon (through the wind hail and snow, much like today's weather) and late into the evening and within twenty four hours we were at home snuggled up in our bed, a new family, right where we ought to be.

Best day ever. And now it's time to celebrate it.

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Twenty two already

Dear Bella,

You know what's funny about February? It's barely over (well, so it was on the 18th anyhow) and it already feels like the shortest month ever. We spent the first half of the month getting through your chicken pox, and the second half trying to figure out how to get you to sleep again. Once you recovered enough to not fall asleep in the rocking chair every day, you decided that naps were a thing of the past. Believe me, you may find that exciting at 1pm, but when you spend the rest of the day bouncing off the walls and exploding over nothing, I guarantee that it's not the easiest way to go about life.

Every step we take towards your birthday I find myself miles closer to the arrival of your little sibling. I'm still not sure what to make of it, but at the moment, I can't complain. I'm getting to see the sweetest side of you, crossing my fingers the real thing will be just as wonderful. You pet my belly and say hello, and we practice putting your bears to bed and nursing them. We set them up in circle around you while you read your books, and I can't help but love being shushed by you when your bears are trying to sleep.

Words are tumbling out of your mouth now faster than either of us can keep up. We find you listening in when least expect it, and you like to repeat the last word of all our sentences. This morning I said aloud (to no one particular), What's six times three? Eighteen? and I heard a tiny echo, Eighteen?

Of course, not all words are so easy to pronounce and you have quite your list of homonyms and accidentally elicit words. Yes, sock still starts with a c, and sit has an extra h in it. Teetee is synonymous with either TV or kitty. Ducky is the hardest one because often it also means doggie. All the rest tend to have hand signals, like wind and rain (wrrrin). I'm so glad you've finally taken to signing. Just the few simple things we know keep our lives that much more peaceful.

You spend the days running around at top speed (wwwwrun!), balancing block towers that are taller than yourself, and decorating all your 2000 parts with ink. Only recently have the pens gone into time out for misuse on permanent surfaces. Daddy thinks you are going to be a tattoo artist, and I'll settle for architect. But don't let your 22 month-old talents confine you. There's still time to try more. And believe me, I cannot wait to see all the little talents hiding inside you. Watching you explore your abilities is my absolute favorite part of this job.

I love you to pieces,
mama

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Love the one you've got

Usually it's late in the evening when I go to brush my teeth and change my clothes and happen to glance in the mirror. What the heck did I eat today? Oh right, there's a baby in there. I mean, not that I forget during the daily kicking and the 100 trips to the bathroom and the cozy maternity pants (hey man, I'm never going back), but this pregnancy has been strange. I've felt... disconnected.

I'm not anxious that I'm not going to love this kid as much as I love Bella. I've been around enough to know that the heart has an amazing capacity to just keep growing. But my experience with Bella has been so perfect. A natural birth, no complications, a happy baby (when she wasn't colicky, but whatever), a baby that lit up lives in an extraordinary way at her slightest glance. Who can live up to that? Our life is good right now. Why did I want to change that? Nobody can promise the next child will be happy and healthy and ease right into our lives.

And although this pregnancy was 100% planned and 10,000% wanted, it just came sooner than I had expected. Now I'm struck with a protective feeling, a bit of jealousy for my time with Bella. I don't want to have to divide my time. Bella is time consuming and patience-testing and I know with a new born I will have neither of those, and that makes me sad. I don't want to kick her out of the bed months early just so she'll get used to it. I had no intention of weaning her, nursing just became too much of an ordeal. I miss being able to wear her around, to carry her when she's too tired on walks, to hold her so she's involved around the house.

So I suppose it's not that I'm not already in love with the baby I'm growing. It's just that when I was pregnant with Bella I had nowhere else to direct my attentions. Now I have Bella, and only five months (crap. four by the time I post this.) left of Just Bella. By the time the baby is here it'll be all baby baby baby, and right now I'm just wrapping myself up in baby Bella time. Bella cuddles. Bella stories. Bella walks. Bella naps. (Or lack thereof. Lets not forget to savor tantrums with only one child to manage.) I have a feeling the new baby won't mind.

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anatomy of a pox

Bored? Have a peek into my week:

Wednesday: Decide to opt out of knit night as I feel a bit crummier than usual.

Thursday: Wake up feeling completely out of breath, a feeling I haven't had in the longest time. 100 degree fever and eyeball headache all day (you know, where your eyeballs hurt to the touch...maybe it's just me). Thankfully Dave comes home early from his job hunt so I can lie on the couch all day. We pop by the library in the evening and I'm so winded I can't make it across a row of shelves without a break. As I'm heading to bed I notice a spot on my back, figure it's a strange zit, and think nothing more of it.

Friday: Wake up feeling just like yesterday, only not winded. Maybe I'm getting over this thing! Sometime around lunch I think to check on that spot, and when I lift up my shirt, I'm stunned. Thirty more spots have popped up! My first thought is chicken pox, but that's silly because I've had them. A strange light case when I was four, but the doctors claimed it all the same. Not to mention the number of pox parties I've attended just in case!

I hop online to see what Dr. Google has to say about the initial appearance of chicken pox and see phrases like "birth defects" and "death" that make my head swim. Time for a call to mommy...then my midwife, then dave, then work, then my midwife again and my mom again. What would we do without phones?

My midwife contacts her perinatologist in Tacoma who says that at almost 18 weeks, the baby shouldn't be put too much at risk. The risk at this point is my fever and that I might come down with a deadly pneumonia that hits 20% of pregnant women post-pox. So it is now my job to take it easy and hope for a light case, this being my second. And still I feel guilty and worry all day long about the baby, what mom wouldn't?

Saturday: My grand delusion that I might just have a mild second case is over. I wake up with hundreds of polka dots, but at this point I think if I can keep a handle on the headache then this is no big deal. At night things start to get itchy and every time I shift my weight on my back, another spot pops. Just call me human bubble wrap.

By the way, if you are an unborn baby reading this to gather advice (I know you have internet in there), please do your mother a favor and keep kicking away as you normally do at all your normal times. Playing quiet is NOT a nice game when your mom is already freaked out and unable to sleep.

Sunday: Yep, a hundred more this morning. And these are the good ones. Three inside my ear, thirty on my face, don't forget the five or six I can feel starting down my throat and the thirty-some-odd in places I'd only mention to my midwife. I'm starting to get annoyed at my fever and the itching has kicked in. Little do I know just how bad it can get when you have nothing else to think about at night. If anything so much as brushes my legs, all my nerves stand on end and jump start the itching again. I'm wishing I had my hair cut over Christmas like I'd planned. It's a tickle nuissance. Thankfully, Bella sleeps through these nights on her own side of the bed.

Hours upon hours spent thinking about people who live with this ridiculous itching every day of their lives. Finally I resort to my old compression tactic and wrap myself in a thin blanket so there's pressure on all sides of me.

Monday: Not too many this morning, but the casualties are setting in and I can tell there's going to be scars. I've got pizza face, and my back looks like a war zone. I'm going to look like a freak at work this weekend. I itch itch itch all day, except when the weather's nice and Dave takes us for drive-through coffee and a day at the park.

Thursday: The days are a blur of sitting and itching, interspersed with sunshine and projects to keep my hands busy. In the night I get up every few hours to distract my mind when the itching cannot be controlled by lotion or brainpower. Even though the pox have stopped popping up, I now have hives everywhere else, my hair, my neck, my arms, hands, feet, legs. They come and go and these imaginary itchies are worse than the real ones, since they only get more swollen the more you itch. If I can distract myself, they go away. Who in the world invented itchies like that? It's just cruel.

Here's hoping that Bella does not get the chicken pox. Most likely she won't. But tomorrow is the day that will tell - day 10 since I got mine. If she does, that's two more weeks of isolation for me, and Bella is trying her hardest to not go insane without people around. She's so much more a people person than me.

Ah the life of chicken pox.

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nineteen - might as well just call it 20.

Dear Bella,

This month's letter comes to you with a special apology. Not particularly because it's very late, but most particularly because you are extremely deserving of one from me. Mommies don't really know everything, even though we often have to act like we do. This fall I came up with the craziest idea that I thought it would be so much fun to give you a little sibling. I enjoyed the last few months of being pregnant with you so much that I guess I must have forgotten exactly how horrible the first seven were. I thought I would have all these months to adjust while dedicating time to you, all you, spending our alone time together and loving every moment of it. Alas, that is not exactly how it is going, at all. Another little person has completely taken over my body, and is already vying for my full attention.

I'm sorry that nursing isn't fun anymore, that I turn you down a hundred times a day and say, No baby, we nursed two(three/four) hours ago, mama's not ready just yet. How I miss enjoying our quiet nursing moments together. I can't stop, as you are losing enough weight already and I can't possibly imagine taking your favorite pastime away from you, but I resent it now, and resent myself for that.

I can't stand being touched when I'm ill, so I've kicked you out of my bed. Oh, I miss snuggling you all night. You're handling it really well. You've taken to sleeping in a frog position on your belly for the first time in your life. Of course, that's probably only because it assists you in sleep-creeping across the bed searching me out in the night.

I miss making us food we like. Between the two of us, I'm trying to find something to eat every hour on the hour, and it's exhausting. Something relatively nutritious that won't make me yak as I watch you eat. Oatmeal, PB+J, cheese and crackers. Gotta keep that energy up.

Baby, you are kinder and more understanding than any mama could dream. I haven't had a lot of me time, since we're now sharing your nap, and that has led to quite a short temper. We don't go out much since I spend so much of the day packing or queasing about, but when I can't do anything but curl up on the floor, you come to me and give me kisses and pats on the back. You are such a gentle soul.

Mostly this month, we've just gotten to know each other even better, bit by bit. You picked up a shrill scream, a side effect, me thinks, of not getting your way. It's a bit embarassing at the library, to say the least. You're making leaps and bounds in words. You're finally realizing that not every word begins with a D, and thus have moved on from doggie (when anything barks) and dight dight daddy (you do love your consonants) to kittie, bubble and tea (I drink lots of that!), and my new favorite thing is the way you sign bath, which looks like a dance from the 50's. Oh, and did I mention that you finally say MAMA?? Except you say maman, the french prononciation. I can dig it.

Oh! You also figured out that when people nod and shake their heads they actually mean something. I don't know why I was so dumbfounded to realize you know this. One day I asked if you were done nursing and you shook your head (since your mouth was obviously full...) and the next day you nodded at Daddy. We took you out for coffee and you sat staring at the table next to us where one woman was nodding at the conversation of her friend, so you joined in, nodding vigorously because you finally understood this new secret language. Ah, the possibilities of body language. Don't get me started on the way you drop your shoulders, roll your eyes and look away (don't forget the exasperated sigh!) when I tell you something will have to wait. Oh my goodness, I need to get that one on camera.

Darling, this is quite the long letter (and no photos, damn the computer virus, I'm in photo deprivation!). But you deserved the apology. We're in our house now, and I hope things only get better from here on out. We've had three sunny days in a row and I promised I'd introduce you to the yard this time. This is supposed to be my favorite time of the year, so I will try my best to make it awesome for you, too. It's the least I can do.

I love you so so much.

mama

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Snapshots of a Lost Pregnancy

**On October 15th, a wave of light will cross the world as we light candles for the pregnancies we have lost. This is my story, which I initially wrote last year and am finally posting. This week, please take the time to let the families in your life know that their lost babies are not forgotten.**

4:15 am on a cold winter morning. Sitting, hands on belly waiting for my car to warm up. I stare through my reflection at the stars above me, wondering what it will be like to share this with my child one day.

~~~~

Dave and I are standing in line at Starbucks. I'm wondering if the kiddo wants a pumpkin spice steamer. Dave doesn't like the name nugget, that's what we call our rabbit. Acorn, he says. And it fits.

~~~~

Wednesday morning and I'm putting together a stroller I received from Freecycle. Cramps run down my back and legs every so often and I try to push it out of my mind, as I have work later.

~~~~

Wednesday afternoon and I'm in Erika's bathroom, panicked as I pass a clot, frozen over the toilet, wondering what to do next.

Having left messages in tears with my family doctor, I'm now on the phone with a midwife I've never met, looking out the bathroom window. She's telling me it's okay to take Advil or Tylenol, that it won't harm the baby if everything works out. She cautions me that my stronger and stronger cramps are indicative of a miscarriage.

~~~~

Erika chides me for not yet having called my mom. I hadn't wanted to worry her. I'm afraid of what she'll say. She's at work. I would want to know, Erika says, and waits for me to promise to call.

My mom's at work and I hear her trying not to cry as I tell her I think I'm losing my baby.

~~~~

Late Wednesday night I'm at the local emergency clinic being checked by a doctor. They take my blood and tell me they don't have an ultrasound machine, so they can transfer me to the bigger ER if I'd like. My mind hurts. My cervix is closed but I'm still passing clots. I need to have an answer. The uncertainty is unbearable.

We spend the rest of the night waiting at the very very very busy ER. They take my blood and admit us further inside, where we wait hours for the ultrasound. I'm cramping and trying not to think about the day. People sick and in pain in every direction, all wishing they were not here. Anywhere but here, waiting.

~~~~

They escort me down a dark empty corridor to the other side of the hospital. Dave had gone to get a snack and I'm terrified to be separated from him. He finds me and afterward we're escorted back to the ER to wait for the results.

No heart beat. Maybe it's just to early to see it. Eight weeks is on the cusp, after all. The doctor is talking, but it is apparent that everyone feels that the situation is useless. I'm wishing we had never come here, wasted our last night pregnant here. Dave is sniffling and I'm lost as the doctor hands us follow up instructions, a work exemption notice (2 days? I haven't even miscarried yet, I need more than that...), and photocopied literature entitled, "If you are having a miscarriage". I stare at the word. Me? Nothing in my life has ever gone this wrong.

~~~~

I stupidly decided to take care of the kids the next day, hoping their life would inspire me to get out of my panic funk. I'm still in denial. How bad could it get? My cramps are in and out.

As the toddler naps, I rest my head on his bed, crying. My vision is starting to falter from the power behind the cramps. I am all alone and am dreading him waking up. I manage to get him downstairs and put a snack on the table and decide to call his dad. I don't know what to say, I don't know what he knows. Come rescue your nanny, she's losing her baby and can't take care of yours. He is very kind and I retreat to the bed downstairs, curled up and in pain. My body, my heart. I know it's happening. Somehow I'm on the phone with Jessie. It's happening. The reception is crappy down here so we hang up. I give in and call for Dave to come get me.

~~~~

I hide in the bathroom to pass the time. And there it is. I remember the doctor saying I would see tissue. Grey tissue. My baby is just the size of a bean, I wonder where he is in all this. It feels morbid to flush the toilet.

~~~~

Dave ushers me outside, loads me in his car. As we drive away, I watch my car get smaller, the questioning look on the seven year-old's face is burned into my eyes. She's almost old enough to understand, yet no one will offer anything. Nana's sick, she has to go home.

~~~~

The scenery goes by. Contractions come and go, wracking my body. I grab onto the door handle and try not to hate my body for what it is doing to me, to my baby.

At home, waves of pain come and go. The cold bathroom floor feels good, I curl into a ball on the floor now knowing the pattern, ready for what is to come. Only, I'm not ready. It's too final.

~~~~

Two days later Dave drives me to the woman's wing of the hospital for my follow up blood test. Dave is at the welcome desk finishing the paperwork. This is where they discharge mothers and their newborns. Families and cameras and brand new car seats covered in fancy new blankets. I call my boss while I choke on my tears. I can't come in tomorrow, I'm just not up to it yet. Twenty percent of our customers are pregnant, and I know I won't be able to handle it. She asks if everything is alright. No, I say, but it will be okay. As I hang up, I wonder if I was too cryptic. But I can't say it yet. The words will not form in my mouth.

~~~~

All these hormones and no baby to use them on. No baby. How did I get here? I spend most of my time in bed crying. The emptiness is unbearable. At night I can't sleep without music blasting the thoughts out of my head until I crash from exhaustion. I head to the mall and stuff myself a bear so that I have something to hold. It softens the pain of useless longing.

~~~~

Back at work, all the people who I wish knew don't know, and all the people I never even told I was pregnant magically know that I no longer am. A few people approach me. One tells me her friend had been through this a few times, so she knows where I am coming from. I am not heartless, but all I can think is, I couldn't care less about your friend.

A truly caring friend keeps looking sideways at me and asking if I'm okay. I keep saying yes, but knowing this is not true, he keeps repeating himself. Finally, I blow up. No, I'm not okay. I lost my baby. I'm not at all okay. He was one of the few who had not yet heard. I felt ashamed. And mad at myself that I assumed he would know, since everyone else seemed to.

Two women hugged me. I'm so sorry, said one. I've been there, I know, said the other. I'm so sorry. In me they hugged their daughters, through them I hugged my mom. The hugs got me through the day.

~~~~

Two weeks later I show up at the birth center for what should have been our first check up. The midwife had told me to keep the date and just come in for a follow up, since that's protocol anyhow. Except no one has flagged my file and if I have to explain one more time that it is not a clerical error and I am no longer pregnant, I am going to break down. The nurse taking my blood pressure notes that it is through the roof and asks me if I get anxious in doctors' offices. I didn't used to, I think. My eyes are burning and all I can do is shake my head. A sticky note on my file would have been nice. Anything.

~~~~

A week later, two weeks later, almost a month later, and I'm wondering who would think of me on the anniversary. Would anyone? Suddenly I understand loss like never before. Nervously I get a card for a friend whose grown son died in a hit and run last year. One year ago. I remember all the mothers in the store crying that day. I've always felt detached from death, but now I understand how one mother losing her child is real pain for every mother.

I'm afraid to give her the card. What have I lost in comparison? I'm still not a real mother. It feels presumptuous to tell her that I understand the hardest part of losing someone is losing them in memory. I tell her that I think of her and I think of her son, and neither are forgotten.

The day I hand her the card happens to be the very anniversary of the day he died. She cries on my shoulder and thanks me as I hold her tight. Suddenly I understand grief like never before.

~~~~

How are you? becomes a burden. The word fine no longer rolls carelessly off my tongue. I test myself before each answer. No, not fine. Not today, not yet. But to say not well invites looks and offers and I cannot go through my day sharing my pain with everyone. Sometimes I wish everyone knew and sometimes I want to hide behind anonymity.

~~~~

A coworker is proudly parading his new nephew around the store. I'm so happy for them and they had generously planned to give me his newborn clothes. Do I want to hold him? I panic. No, I would probably never return him. I want to turn and run. Choking on spent tears, I escape just in time and watch from afar. Tell them I'm sorry. They were so kind. I would have liked to meet him, but I just can't.

~~~~

It's Mother's Day. Do I count? Was he my son if we only met in our dreams?

~~~~

I can't remember the day I first replied fine to a casual How are you, but I remember the feeling in that moment. Relief and fear. If I feel fine, does that mean that I am starting to forget?

I remember the first time I said miscarriage and I didn't stutter and tears didn't burn at my eyes. It was over a year later. Now I say it all the time. I say it because I have a beautiful daughter now, and there is a bittersweet relief in that. She gives me the strength I need to remind people what a miracle every healthy child is.

I say it because people need to know. Pregnancy loss happens. It's sad, and sad things are taboo in our culture. But to me it's bitter sweet. A beautiful soul chose me for this journey, and we were together only eight weeks. And now I understand the world in a completely different way, and every time I look up at the stars, I send out a prayer to all the lost babies. They existed and deserve to be remembered.

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Glowing MJ!

(So that father's day post was scheduled to go up on Tuesday. And Blogger never sent it! So now you'll get two posts in quick succession, hope that's okay!)

MJ finally let me take pictures of her beautiful belly. Her husband was grungy from a bike ride, but hopefully we'll have a chance to include him in a few before MJ pops. She's due in a few days and I'm ridiculously excited about it.

I had so much fun taking and editing these. My camera and I were in a tiff the day we took these, and so I'm amazed at how many I like. I felt like I had all the settings wrong, and I always had the wrong lens on for every moment. And as for editing, man I need practice. Not to mention since my computer can't read RAW files it's a very elaborate process involving two differently calibrated monitors on laptops, so they change their color depending on the angle anyhow. I can't imagine what these will look like printed out.

Luckily the subject is so outstanding that it doesn't matter! My favorite thing about taking photos of MJ (which I do frequently since she's good friends with Bella, and a beautiful confident subject, and simply because she lets me get away with it) is that she and her home are so colorful. Who can resist such amazing colors around every corner?

So, without further ado, MJ:



As soon as I got to MJ's, I noticed the evening light fading out of the nursery. I rushed MJ to sit under the window before the room ran out of light. In no time at all MJ will be rocking in this chair with her baby.



And of course, with a knitting mama, this boy will be decked out in the best knits.



Then we headed out onto the deck for a cuppa tea, where of course the light was nice again.



See? Didn't I tell you she's beautiful? She is the definition of glowing.



And then we popped indoors for a minute, where I made MJ pose with baby's first outfit.



When MJ saw all the photos of her hands on her belly she was surprised, not knowing that she unconsciously did that. I think all mamas get used to petting their bellies.



Thanks for always letting me take your pictures, MJ! (And yes, your belly is totally already bigger than in this photo!)

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thought splatter

I've been so short with Bella lately. Mostly because she's needy right now. If I take one step, she's right behind me. She crawls behind me, crying, even if I'm just walking two feet to the trash can. It's worst when I'm doing laundry or dishes and I go room to room collecting stragglers. My little blubbering shadow. Push her away when she needs the most, that makes sense, Shawna.

She's hitting really hard these days. I'd like to think it's a phase, but she's ALWAYS been a hitter. You lean in close for a kiss and she cat swipes your face. She seems all cuddly and then WHAM, a smack across the head out of the blue. I don't know how to show her to be gentle any more than I already have and the more she hits the less I feel like demonstrating gentle behavior.

After a whole year without the word NO! suddenly I'm frustrated and it escapes my mouth every other sentence. Usually in tandem with grabbing her away from something (the computer!). It's a meaningless expression of aggravation. It's not a teaching tool, it's power indulgence. And it backfires more often than not anyhow, since she's watching my every reaction. Noes are exciting. We're stepping into a power struggle, and if I don't stop it, we'll both lose.

I got my first heavy period in several years. It must be the night weaning, even just the thought of it, since we haven't accomplished much yet. The disheartening part of it is how much it made my leg hurt. It's hard to say what it feels like. Not painful, not yet anyhow. It's like how a limb feels when you've had your legs crossed and suddenly the blood flows fully again. It's feels warm and full of sand. It takes extra effort to lift it in even stride with my other leg. And then there are the hot shooting pains that radiate down past my knees. It's all rather unpleasant, but not painful. But I know it can be and the fact that it's already back is the only thing I'm dreading about future pregnancies. I would, after all, like Bella to have siblings.

When I was in high school, I bent my knee backward in gym class. A friend gave me a few pain killers to get through the day. The notes I took that day are squiggly and illegible because I was in so much pain. For weeks afterward (and random intervals after that) I had to get up in the middle of the night and walk around because the pain was worst when I was sitting or lying down for long periods of time. I never understood that. I still don't, but I do know that lying in bed last night I realized how similar the experiences are. I wonder what I did to my leg that day.

I caught a cold. In the summer? What a weird time to have a cold. It's because staying up late (sometimes I'm at work until 2am) messed just enough with my immune system that the cold got the better of me. I'm really beginning to resent a job that I used to love.

A block in the center of town burnt down last night. A five alarm fire. We could see the smoke rising up over the area where the farmer's market is held. I could smell it drifting in through my windows as I tried (unsuccessfully) to fall asleep. A beautiful cupcake shop. A sweet antique store where I window shop. A vacuum store that I would have visited yesterday had I not been sick. (I broke a belt trying to vacuum up my moby wrap, you see.) Apartments upstairs. One hundred years of town history in that building and today they are gone.


Yep, that's about it. Wow. Time to post a savoring list, me thinks. It's getting gloomy in here.

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an okay anniversary

So today I was planning a post that I started writing well over a year ago. But, time runs fast these days and it's still not ready. Or perhaps it's me who's not ready. I have the need to share, but maybe not in this moment, when life is stressful but still sweet.

One year ago I was relieved to find Easter falling so early. A blessing, because I was so full of life and the anticipation of being 9 months pregnant and yet faced with the sad anniversary of my miscarriage the previous year. There was mingled happiness and sadness and the need to understand it all or push it away with a busy day of celebration.

This year the anniversary falls on a weekend so busy that I barely have time to think. But, it turns out I don't need the distraction. This year is so different, so distanced from what I experienced last year. A healthy pregnancy, a beautiful birth, a happy baby, writing and time have done so much healing. I doesn't hurt anymore, at least not in the way it used to.

The word miscarriage falls easily into my Story now and doesn't trip up my tongue and make my eyes burn. I've even transitioned past that time when it aches to stop hurting and just accept. Accept that the subsiding grief is only changing forms, and to let it mature is not the same as abandoning memories. Now it just is and I'm finding a new place in my heart for these feelings to live, slightly more distant from my daily life, and I'm okay with that.

Instead of bitterness in seeing those happy, seemingly unscathed pregnant couples, the times that the grief resurfaces are in moments of sympathy. Meeting another babylost mama, hearing of yet another tragedy no matter how long ago, no matter how it may differ from my own experience. It's always yesterday. My heart doesn't ache as much for my own lost baby, but keens for the loss of all the babies. One loss is everyone's loss. It's always like it happened yesterday.

The hardest part is finding a way to share, to grieve an invisible loss, to rejoice in a short life, to remember an existence in a society that is uninformed and afraid to recognize pregnancy and infant loss in the open. Grief is awkward and ugly, and as a society we are poorly equipped to comfort each other and lift one another up in times of true need. I hope by sharing, we'll slowly break this taboo, this lack of understanding. As I share mine, other mothers share theirs, and together we give our hearts openly and listen and receive one another. We hold fast to our memories and the lives we have known and validate each other.

So I will share my story. Not today as I thought I would, but sooner than later. It's just a small story, but it's mine and if it helps just one other person understand, acknowledge and support with a babylost mama, it's worth sharing.

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Welcome, Snow

As much as I would like to feign indifference to a "storm" (light dusting by the New England standards with which I was raised), out here it snows relatively infrequently, sticks even less often, and I am not above squealing at the mere thought of a snow flake coming my direction. (I never have been.) I was at work last night when it began snowing in earnest, giant fluffy flakes swirling in from every which way. I grabbed my nearest giddy coworker and we went out and frolicked in it. And there is only one thing that will get me out of my warm cozy bed to head outside in my bare feet at dawn after having gone to sleep at 2am.



Last time it snowed, it was Bella's birthday. Birth day. Hmmm, I guess there are TWO things that will get me out of my warm cozy bed at dawn, though I did not go outside in my bare feet when my water broke. I probably would have, if it had already started to snow. The excitement of my labor trumped the snow glow I normally feel, but looking back on that day the fact that it snowed was by far my favorite detail. (It almost makes up for the fact that the storm tripped the hot water heater and foiled my plans for a water birth...)

I distinctly remember my mom exclaiming that it had started to snow as she whipped open the blinds. And despite my love for snow and my underlying desire to head out and catch snowflakes on my tongue rather than labor in bed, I was not myself. The scene of snow swirling about the windswept lake would have been beautiful, but the light made me want to vomit and the fact that I wanted to vomit rather than see snow made me want to cry, so I screamed at her to close the blinds. Labor can bring you to the highest highs and the lowest lows and I barely knew myself.

Still, it snowed. I proudly proclaim, It snowed on Bella's birthday. In April. It was amazing.

She's not awake yet for this snow (being the reason I was up until 2, not 12:30 when I actually hopped in bed), but I hope this winter will offer us many more snow opportunities. I hope she'll get to experience the peaceful silence brought by snow, a quiet so strong that each individual snowflake can be heard bouncing lightly off branches and dead leaves and rooftops as it makes its way to earth. My fondest memories of winter are of hiking by moonlight in the muffled quiet of glowing snow, sledding down hills, making snow thrones and igloos and snowmen so tall we have to get the ladder out to finish the head. I wither at the thought that Bella will grow up with a dusting as her concept of TONS OF SNOW! but we have time. Maybe some day we'll live where it snows more, or maybe a dusting will be plenty. Either way, I can't imagine that a girl born on The Day it Snowed in April will manage not to catch my enthusiasm for all things snow.

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