Etched in My Heart

It’s been a little over two years since my miscarriage. I know I don’t talk about it all the time, but much of why is because I’m still sorting out my complicated feelings on the matter.

I find myself grieving at odd moments. I am at peace with God’s sovereignty in it, but sometimes I can’t stand to dwell on it. I don’t mind referencing it or sharing if it’ll help someone else, but I don’t identify Rowan as a rainbow baby. I don’t want daily reminders of how shocking and terrifying it was or how I didn’t get a nice normal pregnancy following a loss, but a complicated one, albeit refining and ultimately a testament to God’s faithfulness.

“But it all turned out fine!”

It guts me when people diminish all of it. I’m still not entirely okay with it. My son is perfect, but I often look at him and wonder who the other baby would have been. There’s so much emotional overlap, and it’s difficult, maybe a little morbid, and definitely unpleasant to try and explain this to my friends. I don’t regret the timing whatsoever, but I don’t need any extra reminders of my miscarriage and subsequent pregnancy; it’s still too tender.

I’m frustrated with myself when my friends need support, and I am suddenly struggling again(obviously it’s inappropriate to tell them, so I just tread water alone). And then I feel unentitled to my grief.

Some days I’m a bit more optimistic. I think maybe I could do it again. Maybe our family isn’t complete. Maybe I’m ready to be vulnerable again… but I don’t know if I am.

And so I am making peace with these in-between feelings. It is okay to be unsettled and struggling with some things. It is okay to greet your grief briefly, to look it in the face, ask real questions, and bid it goodbye until we meet again.

Regardless of how I seem to be fine and don’t talk about it, grief is indelibly etched in the deepest part of my heart, and I have embraced it.

Motherhood: What I Love

Let’s focus on the good stuff!

I adore watching my kid develop a personality and grow. He is a laid back baby and I am not wired that way. I marvel at how thoughtful he is, how his world is complete, how the most he wants is to go outside or on an outing, how a snack is great, and watching rainbows splashed on floors and walls from a prism is enough to appreciate the current moment.

I am fiercely proud of his determination and how he doesn’t scare easy. I love helping him to be brave and see what he can do. I adore showing him how to navigate big feelings, new skills, and obstacles of many kinds.

This baby I taught to think thunder is funny: “Do you hear that? The thunder goes, ‘BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!'” He smiles and tries to say “boom.”

He doesn’t like to be told what to say or how to play, but he is transfixed by watching me get ready. He is slowly gaining speed with vocabulary. He occasionally says “Mama” and “Dada” but also regularly tries to say “tree,” “bird,” and “brush.” He doesn’t like saying bye bye as much any more, but still loves waving. He only says “hello” to strangers in Walmart every once in awhile.

He has the longest eyelashes. His smile is endearing; he makes so many friends because he smiles and tries to “talk” to almost anyone. He loves eating out? That’s a weird one, but he has been all about seeing people and trying whatever food I put in front of him. I’m also impressed with how slowly he’ll enjoy a meal (unlike both parents) and in general how his attention span seems unnaturally long for his age; sometimes I wonder if all the waiting and slowing down I did while pregnant with him provided that sense of calm and contentment.

He now fake reads books, usually upside down, but he will look at every page! He has a higher pitched voice for pretend, whether it’s waving his arms around or talking to a stuffed animal. He still isn’t walking at 14 months, but he climbs and climbs.

I love the way he reaches for me or knee-walks back into a room because he missed me and wants to be picked up. I watch him on monitor at night and cherish his little revolutions in the crib.

I am utterly grateful to God that my child sleeps through the night finally. I literally didn’t do anything differently to make this happen, and it was a long year getting there.

Y’all, I LOVE our bedtime routine and that we have sleep routines. I love that I can help him feel safe and secure in this way. I love that I am getting to know him and discovering how to be in tune with him.

I don’t think I’ll ever regret spending this time with him, even though I am personally not very fulfilled by not working. Yes, it is possible to absolutely adore your child and also not feel cut out to permanently be a stay-at-home parent. People say they feel inadequate as a parent; I feel like an imposter of a “homemaker.” But this is a season that is all about him.

Also, I love this song about motherhood: https://youtu.be/npSDM26xlzs

 

7 Years

Happy Anniversary to me and Chris!

I am very confident that we are not the same people we were; I thank God we aren’t! We were 21 and 23 when we married, and that both seems a lifetime ago and maybe just a couple years ago.

We have lived together at 5 different addresses in 3 different states. We have driven 4 different vehicles, held 8 different jobs, he gained 3 degrees, and we have one gorgeous, perfect baby (I’m claiming the majority of blood, sweat, tears, and other bodily fluids on that last one). We will have had less than 1 year neither of us being in school our entire relationship, because I’m starting online grad school in the fall.

We’ve had 15 birthdays between us. Endless cups of coffee and tea, bars of dark chocolate consumed in squares, and miles upon miles traveling by car and plane. I think of the video I loved to show my students, The Time You Have (in Jelly Beans), and thank God for all of the time sleeping next to my love.

Last year, Chris was in Germany and I was traveling with a newborn on his first Father’s Day/our anniversary (fun fact: we were married on Father’s Day but it doesn’t always coincide for anniversaries).

Honestly, I think we’d both say that these past couple of years have been the most difficult with lots of changes and upheavals and heartache. Love is a choice, and I’m glad we still choose each other. What is truly amazing is that 2 kids not only had a shared vision of life, but also have accomplished pretty much what we set out to do. God has absolutely been there, even on the tough days when it feels like everything has been in vain. I don’t say it lightly when I say we’ve been blessed.

I could try and tell you how much I appreciate Chris, how I see the endless selfless things he insists on, how I am frustrated with all of the times I feel I could be a better wife, how often he is willing to clear the air and start over, how I can trust him completely, and how true of a friend and partner he is in pushing me forward and encouraging me when I feel stuck… but there aren’t enough words or time for examples.

Love is hard and sweet and deep and long-suffering. Looking back at our younger selves, if you had told us all of these things, we might have been dismayed, but I can promise you we would have said our vows just as sincerely.

 

Snapshot of My Little Man

It is lunch time.

You have told me so because of your jutted lip and keening cry. You watched me get out food from the refrigerator and bawled as I walked into the other room.

I have spent the rest of the morning getting you out of trouble in almost every room of our house. You crawl eagerly, always particularly fast when you spy something new or something forbidden. At the moment, you are very frustrated I’ve moved too quickly for you to grab onto my ankles.

“Come on in, little man, it’s lunch time. Come on!”

You wail louder, flailing arms and sitting stationary.

“Would you like some cheese?” I coax, holding it aloft where you can see.

You are literally and figuratively unmoved.

I walk back into the kitchen to grab a banana, and in that split instant, you brighten, thinking I have caved.

I haven’t.

“Look! A banana! Wouldn’t you like some? Come on! You can do it!”

I continue to prepare your lunch and place it on the tray of your unoccupied high chair.

“Come on, baby! I know you can do it…”

I hear more fussing and crying, only now it sounds closer. You have made it approximately two feet from your high chair before flattening out and feigning helplessness again with tears. I congratulate you warmly and pick you up.

“Good job! I knew you could do it! Are you ready for lunch?”

You instantly quiet, smile a little smile, and eagerly eat your lunch.

 

 

I can’t help but think that this is where it all begins. This is the good part, where he begins to understand just how capable and strong and wonderful he really is.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve wanted close friendships. Most people do.

What I realized is different about me is that I don’t always make a great first impression and I’m naturally a bit disagreeable. Charitably, this is called “contrary” or “frank.” I can be very diplomatic or extremely judgmental, but I struggle with happy mediums. I’m afraid this doesn’t always make me pleasant to encounter. I’m thirty years old, and I’m willing to own up to it.

I most often say what I mean and do what I say. I won’t ever suggest coffee without following through or being the first to apologize when I forget. My compliments are genuine and honest, even if a bit creative. If I have faith in our friendship, I’ll accept a phone call or text with literally years of dead silence interim and still believe you are a wonderful person!

But this takes time. It takes people being consistent with me in order to trust them and silence the internal (infernal?!) nagging skeptic telling me how little I matter or how I must be doing something wrong to be treated this way. People who don’t know me well don’t understand this part of my personality; I rarely feel comfortable enough in public situations to reveal my flaws and insecurities, and it’s nearly impossible for others to understand that the high standards I have are because I am hard on myself: a recovering perfectionist. Also for some reason my struggles are less relatable than average (I’m not a snowflake, just a realist). I’m a great speller. I’m incredibly confident as an educator. If I choose to cut something out of my diet, I just do it. I lost weight having a baby. Irritating, right? Contrary even.

I can tell you what I want to do with my life, but I’m crippled by what to wear or what to make for dinner. I encourage my friends of their worth and value but struggle to be kind to myself. I am great at being busy, but it’s often to avoid being too still or quiet. I’m sometimes overly friendly or opinionated because I’m uncomfortable and scrambling. For every minor concern I say aloud, I’ve been overthinking twenty more for days.

All this is to say, I am incredibly grateful for the friends I have. I have had close friendships, even if the majority were only for a season. I’m working on cultivating what I have and becoming happier in the stillness. God has been impressing on my heart how important it is to be still, to be suspended in enough grace for today without worrying about tomorrow. I fail at this often, so it’s a good thing I have ample opportunity for remediation.

This is a note to remind myself to not panic and assume the worst when I’m making new friends. This is a moment in my life when I’m not happy with the way things are, but I’m doing my best not to write it all off. That’s all anyone can do, right?

2018 Recap!

5 things that happened:

• I was on modified bed rest for 8 weeks at the end of my pregnancy. I had to stay home from teaching, going to the gym, going to the grocery store… it was really rough.
• We had a baby!
• Chris left for Germany for 5 weeks after staying home with Rowan for the last two weeks of school year so I could finish the year and keep my insurance. I ran out of FMLA due to bed rest, but my district held my job until my doctor cleared me for work 6 weeks postpartum. Consequently, I single mommed for 5 weeks with a newborn.
• Chris got a new job, I quit my job, and we relocated, selling our house in Arkansas and buying another in Mississippi in a single week.
• Chris earned his PhD!

 

5 things I learned:

• How to slow down. I was literally required to physically slow down, and I spent a lot of time making peace with uncertainty about my pregnancy and our future. This is by no means a mastered skill, but it is something I’m working on.
• God is faithful, even if it takes time for me to panic and then trust. I’m pretty sure this year is the same lesson in a different context.
• I don’t think I want as many kids as I initially thought. This is really difficult. I love being able to stay home with Rowan, but I really miss teaching and interacting with more people. I’ve joined a Bible study, and I’m working on friends, but I definitely feel isolated because I don’t know what else is here, and the things I’ve thought of don’t exist, nor do most businesses here advertise or have websites (no kindermusik, baby swim lessons, MOPS, BSF, mom groups, or even many people on the Peanut app).
• Knowing on the front end that moving is difficult doesn’t do much for making it less arduous. I’m not big on small talk, and I miss my friends, my church, my awesome job, conveniences (like Target, bookstores, coffee shops, and reliable babysitters), and even our house.
• I don’t understand this season of my life at all, but I’m open to figuring it out and reframing how I see it. I am welcoming of new friends, new experiences, and a chance to rest from busyness. I am so incredibly happy for Chris because he loves his job, and we are blessed in how it provides for us. My word for the year is “rebirth.” I want to embrace turning 30 at the end of this month and dream a new dream for this decade and era of my life.

 

5 Goals for the year:

• Find a new way to cook veggies once a month at least
• Get back to the gym at least twice a week, and do home workouts at least twice a week
• Become content with my new surroundings.
• Make a decision about grad school
• Accept that some personal boundaries and traditions need to be redefined as time goes on, and it’s okay to say no to “family obligations” for the sake of your child.

Don’t Fight It

I say this to the monitor when I look at Rowan from afar.

Sleep training is tough. I have no problems laying down the law and sticking to it when it comes to my teenage students, but there is something primally gut-wrenching about hearing your own baby cry. It’s my biology to respond, but I know from the past couple of months that if I do that every time he makes a noise, it is untenable.

I don’t think Chris understands how it guts me. I don’t even fully understand, but the rational part of my brain still overrides this feeling, because I do stand it. I do stick to being consistent in my responses for Rowan’s sake.

Last night, he awoke less than two hours after being put in bed. I may have had to turn off the sound on his monitor and take a shower, but he did go back to sleep in less than 15 minutes. I decided that either at 10:30 or the next time he woke up, I’d go get him and feed him. And you know what? He slept for five hours! Yes, I was still up at 3AM, but it was ONCE! So doable!

Parenting is obnoxiously revealing of God’s relationship with us. I can’t help but think how much it must break His heart to see me struggle with resting in Him, knowing my future outcome and why the present is necessary, even when I cannot.

I’m trying to remember what I tell my son after we have read books before bedtime or a nap: “Now it is time to rest. I love you very much. I’ll be back for you when it is time.”

On the Rocky Shore of 8 Months

Here I am, barely making it.

A couple of years ago, I learned the bare basics of surfing. I had “Bob” the affectionately named foam training surfboard belonging to my brother in law.

Paddling out was not so bad; I’m an okay swimmer and have long arms so reaching wasn’t too difficult, nor was propelling myself. When we got out to wait for the little waves, I had no problem breaking through the surf and waiting. Straddling the board and balancing was great. I loved it. I was super nervous about the picking a wave part. There was definitely some failure in spotting a good wave and catching it. By the time I did catch a wave, I was ready! I wanted to move!

With adrenaline pulsing through my body, I caught it! I had decided to try and stand up, and I almost did, before collapsing into the water. The problem was, another wave came immediately after, catching me as I was recovering. It wasn’t even that big, but I was in the wrong place, and I knew it almost instantly.

As I was dragged down, foamie board attached, I tried desperately to swim parallel to the shore. My eyes were open in self preservation, and although I could see sunlight as I was churned lower, everything was fuzzy from foam and sand. I scraped something, managed to kick away and find my footing, and came up gasping for air, amazed that I was up. I fell to my knees in the shallows, almost being dragged out again by the board, and sputtering and shaking, I made my way back with as much composure as possible.

The ocean won that round. I still haven’t tried it again (although, to be fair, last year was a no go because I was pregnant). I probably will someday, but that day was plenty for awhile.

Coming up in the shallows, gasping for life, feeling utterly spent and breathless is exactly how I feel at this point in my journey of motherhood.

It is HARD when your kid’s sleep goes to crap and you’re up often. It is difficult remembering how you got to the point where every little thing sets you off, you can’t stand your child touching you, and your anxiety is magnified from sleep deprivation.

I honestly don’t even remember most of a couple of weeks ago because I was so out of it, so tired, so desperate for a break of any kind. I have Chris here, but that’s it for people who can help. I have polite acquaintances, but not a soul willing to be in the trenches of raising a tiny human with me.

In desperation, at the suggestion of a dear friend who still texts me, we started sleep training a bit. It is so hard to hear my baby cry at all, but he is sleeping better, and I feel I can go on. We just spent a week with family, and not only did baby sleep better, but I had friends to visit with, family to interact with and hold Rowan, and places to go when we needed out of the house. It was refreshing. All those minutes of help add up, and although I was stressed Rowan would wake the whole house of our relatives, he did all right, and I felt like life was doable again.

Along with the lack of sleep, Rowan was recovering from bronchitis, cutting FOUR teeth at once (!!!!!), and trying to figure out food and moving. I’m pretty sure most of his calories are going to his superman wiggling, willing himself to crawl. His weight is a little concerning, so I’m trying to be more mindful of being consistent with feeding him solids and breastmilk.

It’s just one thing after another.

I didn’t really enjoy Thanksgiving because I was exhausted, so I’m hoping Christmas is better. Fingers crossed Rowan gets his sleep figured out. If he still wakes up once or twice, so be it, but even every 3 hours would be a relief after the month we’ve had.

I feel like I have given up everything I love doing lately just to survive, and I worry I’ll lose my sense of direction in life. I now understand how easily motherhood can become a defining role in life, but I still feel that this is just a season.

Tomorrow’s to do list is already piling up, but I am hopeful brighter days are ahead. Just have to keep moving forward and praying for the best.

6 Months & a Week

Tomorrow is 6 months and a week with my baby boy.

He has finally mastered rolling back and forth and is starting to push up on hands and knees. Yesterday he just decided that he’s probably been rolling belly to back for forever and it’s no big deal! He loves playing with us. He’ll stare at you, smiling in anticipation for you to look up and notice, and then laugh with delight when you do. He loves peekaboo; I was surprised that he never went through a scared stage having something over my face or his. He just thinks it’s hilarious!

He doesn’t sit up that well; we are practicing. He was 15 lbs 9oz (with clothes this time) and 25.5″; apparently he lost a quarter of an inch, but I think it’s because we’re seeing a different doctor. He had his best round of shots yet, although I made Chris hold him this time because I tend to cry. I only teared up this time!

Life is hard. He’s not sleeping well. He gets up every 2-3 hours but mercifully goes back to sleep well. We both had a cold this last week, so it’s been a struggle.

This is also about a month in our new home. Moving is always so hard. It is difficult when it hits you that you are both homesick and actually at home. It is difficult coming to terms with the fact that most people have lived here for literally GENERATIONS, and you will probably always be seen as a transplant. It is tough when there is very little middle class and you are solidly middle class through and through. It is maddening going over every single conversation because you are anxious and know first impressions are not your forte.

What I do have is peace that this is yet another season and that God has prepared something for us. It is worth it to be a little uncomfortable. This time around, I’m not as anxious about making friends, and I have plenty to keep me busy. It doesn’t mean I’m not still grieving for the life I lost, but I will do my best to embrace what is here. I will love others the best I can and not worry about if they love me or not; I am perfectly loved by God and my family and dear friends.

One Mississippi… down!

Far Off Fear

We are moving to Mississippi in less than two weeks!

I’ve been thinking about it a lot. I set out the trash and recycling and thought about how we’ll only do that once more.

I’m making a list of people and places I want to see one last time before moving.

I’m trying to figure out if there’s a Target within 2 hours of us (pretty sure there isn’t).

We’re not sure how not having a Sam’s Club will go either.

We are excited for our new home. I’m excited to be fully committed to this new stage of life.

I’ve lined up a new doctor for Rowan, and I’m shopping for hospitals too. We aren’t pregnant (or trying!), but after this pregnancy, I feel like I can’t start too early.

It looks like I’ll have to go 2 hours away for decent care, and that is terrifying. With placenta previa this last pregnancy, it was scary because I could start spontaneously bleeding heavily at any moment, and I might not have much time to seek care. We lived 10 minutes away from the hospital, and that was plenty. The women’s hospital I gave birth in had a level III NICU available, my MFM (maternal fetal medicine) doctor and OB had privileges and offices in the same complex, my dear friend worked there, and they weren’t too busy. It was literally almost everything I wanted. I was hospitalized early and they were able to stop my labor there. I was admitted early when I did go into labor due to bleeding before my water broke and spent about 30 hours laboring and waiting for my son. God was so good in providing all these things for my high risk pregnancy.

We are moving to a state with one of the highest rates of infant mortality and living in an area with only a regional medical center. I’ll have to see a specialist before we even begin trying again, and it could be that despite having higher odds of repeat placenta previa I don’t have it again, but it’s still worrisome. We want to build our family in the next few years, and it looks like it’s going to be difficult again.

I was googling and obsessing over this again, almost to the point of tears, asking God why He’d move us some place where it seems so unsafe, and He said to me, “You are safe wherever I am. Did I not care for you before?”

And when I think about that, I am humbled. I had access to all of those facilities, but I didn’t need them apart from stopping labor and having a baby with zero interventions. I didn’t need medication while on bed rest, I wasn’t induced, I didn’t need a c-section, I opted not to have IV drugs, and my platelets were too low for an epidural. God got me through it when I asked (and begged and prayed and cried and ultimately trusted).

I know it’d be easy to say, “just don’t have more kids while you’re there” but I can’t help but feel that we are supposed to, if for no other reason than to allow God to continually help me conquer my fears and trust Him more deeply.

Honestly, we have been astounded at how seamlessly this last-minute move has gone (even though it has required a lot of responsiveness on Chris’s part to get the paperwork moving). It is not what or where or even when we planned on, but it is a tremendous bit of providence. Chris has a great job, we found a house and sold ours in a week, and many things keep clicking into place. We are grateful for what we have, and we’ll pray for the rest.

Just for fun to look back on in a few months, here are some of the things I’m praying for as we prepare to move:

• smooth paperwork to close on our houses (new and current)
• a good church home/family in MS
• friends, specifically people to be close with and do life together
• contentment not having as many conveniences (comparison is the thief of joy, and I struggle when I move to embrace all the new instead of trying to compare it to the old)
• that Chris’s job would be everything he wanted it to be.
• that I’d figure out the best path for grad school
• safety for Rowan and all of us; that Rowan would thrive in the new environment