Wednesday, May 30, 2012

Even in the Darkness


Realizing a fear is hard. Having that fear to come light in your life is often more terrifying than the fear itself. In the midst of joy and excitement about our pregnancy, with my own anxieties lightly looming at the surface, my biggest worry came to life. We learned the day after my birthday that our sweet little baby, the one whose heart we listened to and watched beat, the one we prayed for and dreamed about…that same sweet baby was no longer with us. It was incredibly unexpected and the shock and grief that accompanies is almost inexplicable.

I will never forget that night, lying on the table. And as soon as he swiped the wand across my stomach and I looked at the screen, I felt it. I looked for that familiar little flicker, proof of vitality, and I hoped that I was just missing it. That my eye was untrained or that he was struggling to get a clear view. I could tell that the ultrasound tech was searching, and I finally stopped looking at the screen because I felt in my heart what he hadn’t said yet. I felt all of those fears of loss and tragedy becoming a reality in my life, and I felt all of those dreams we had slipping away, but mostly I felt the depth of loss creeping in, the loss of one you love.

We had planned for a home birth with this baby, so instead of being in a clinical setting, we were in the home of our ultrasound tech. And I am so grateful for that. Grateful for the intimacy and the warmth of a house where real people live, not just a place where people work and hand out good or bad news. He was so kind, so gentle, and so sincere. His words have replayed in my head for days, hundreds of times. “Honey, I’m sorry I’m just not going to have good news.” They’re like a CD that keeps skipping at the same part over and over again. But instead of a sterile attitude, it was much different. While Tommy and I cried on his table, he spoke to us of he and his wife’s own loss, he shared positive experiences after loss, and he told me at least a hundred times that this was not my fault, that there was nothing I did wrong or nothing that could’ve prevented this. He told me statistics and spoke to me about his own experiences-- that in the 400 scans a month he does, with his knowledge of chromosomes and their formation in pregnancy, he said it was simply a miracle that loss and tragedy don’t happen more often than they do. And while the statistics and reassurances of my lack of fault didn’t comfort in that moment, they’ve been a healing balm in the days that have followed as I have questioned myself and my actions. And instead of just the typical  “I’ll give you a moment,” he quietly walked out and called my midwife whose number he had in his personal cell phone and let her know so I wouldn’t have to speak it out loud yet. I spoke with her too, listened to the compassion in her voice, and knew immediately that even though this was not the ending we wanted, we had picked the right care providers, the ones that we needed. I couldn’t stop the tears from the moment that he spoke until the moment that we left. He hugged me before I walked out the door, and as I’ve remembered those moments-- moments filled with shock, and excitement turned to sorrow, I have been grateful for this man’s presence there with Tommy and I as we mourned. He was not uncomfortable with our grief, and that made a difference.

Before we pulled out of his driveway, we prayed. We cried out for ourselves and the precious life we so desperately missed. And even though I couldn’t speak much in that moment, Tommy did, and he prayed through his tears and his faith was steadfast. The car ride home was hard and filled with waves of sadness and grief so deep I felt like I would drown. And yet, there was God’s faithful hand in that moment too. Because when we pulled up in the driveway and walked in the door, utterly changed and different people than who we were when we crossed that threshold just hours before, there came a little girl in pink pajamas. Running to me and yelling, “Mama!” with a smile. And there was comfort in those moments, when everything else felt wrong and the heartache was so heavy I could hardly breathe, she was there too, this living proof of God’s provision in our lives.

Much like with birth, we felt that my body just needed time. So we opted out of any medical procedures and waited. The waiting was hard. Too difficult to explain.

It was my birthday the day before we found out. We had gone shopping all day, bought all sorts of summery maternity clothes for me to wear to our upcoming beach vacation. And even though this little life was no longer with us, I still looked pregnant. And that was hard too. My regular clothes didn’t fit and still don’t. But I ached to look at my maternity clothes, to put them on, because it felt like a lie.

But the waiting period ended. I had feared that I would be alone, but I was not. Tommy was with me. I will spare details because they are just too personal, and memories that only we share of our final moments with our precious baby. But again, I was thankful that I had labored before. I felt that God had prepared me for this moment physically. So when the pain began, it was more like a familiar friend. And because Tommy and I have labored naturally together before, he knew what I needed and what comforted me. They were painful hours, physically and emotionally. Unlike my previous labor that left me with a baby in my arms, this left me with what felt like a gash in my soul. But like my labor with Abi Kate, even in the midst of pain, there was a gentleness that prevailed. She was asleep for a good portion of the time, and her monitor was on in our room. And while contractions crashed over me and all the sadness that they brought, I heard the music playing in her room. "Blessed Be Your Name"--the timing of that song playing in that moment….The bridge, “You give and take away. You give and take away. My heart will choose to say, ‘Lord blessed be your name’….”   filled up our room during an intense few moments, and I knew that God’s plan was unfolding. The plan that we didn’t expect, and the plan that we don’t understand and won’t try to. And even though I felt alone and broken, I knew He was there. Even if I couldn’t feel it. While it wasn’t the ending we had prayed for, our pregnancy did end where it began- in the quietness of our own home-- and that is what we planned from the beginning.

I have been overcome in following days, by so many emotions and memories. The necklace that we ordered for Mother’s Day arrived in the mail the day after our loss, a nest with two little eggs to symbolize our babies. It hurt, to see the two and know that only one would share our physical home. But when we bought it, Tommy had suggested that we choose the birthstones for the month not that they were born, but the month that we conceived them-- because that’s really the moment that they joined us. And so, it was perfect, even though we had no clue when we ordered it that we would be without life when it arrived. Even though this baby will not share our home, they will always share our hearts.

The new breastpump that I ordered two days before will arrive soon, and with it will come deterred dreams, knowing that I will never nurse this baby late at night like we’d planned. And packing away the new maternity clothes, the cute dresses and shirts I’d planned to wear, that was hard too. Knowing that this baby will not make my stomach swell and my skin stretch... It is painful.

I teach pregnancy and childbirth. I am familiar with statistics and both processes. And yet, despite my knowledge, the questions arise. It’s just different when it is you and not someone else. I fall into this small statistic of loss. Less than 10% in fact. Having had a strong heart beat at 8.2 weeks, a correctly measuring, intact, and well-implanted gestational sac and baby. We are much more diligent about eating organic, whole foods now than we were 2 years ago. My house has been free of chemicals for over a year. I haven’t stopped taking prenatal vitamins since January of 2010. I rarely, if ever, take medication. Most people who know me know that I am a Nazi about my water intake, particularly during pregnancy. I had very few food aversions with this pregnancy in comparison to Abi Kate’s, so I ate much more often and much healthier foods. I continued walking for exercise during this pregnancy. And instead of losing 8 pounds in the first few weeks, I gained weight. For all intents and purposes, this was a healthier pregnancy than Abi Kate’s from the outside looking in. This baby was more likely to be healthier, stronger. I am young and I don’t fall into any risk categories of miscarriage.  And yet, against all odds of their health and survival, 11 weeks is all we received with this little one before their heart simply stopped beating.  It is hard to embrace and confuses the mind. I’ve always been afraid of miscarriage, simply because I know so many people whose lives it has touched and hurt. It’s one of the reasons why we wait to announce my pregnancies until a bit later, until my pregnancy is visibly obvious (which with both my babies has been sooner rather than later). In both pregnancies, once we reached double digits, I started to feel relief. To be a week out from completing my first trimester and to experience a loss-- we just never saw it coming. We were counting down the weeks until we went for a gender scan. Only 4 weeks away. Announcing a loss publicly was hard, and something I’d always hoped to avoid by waiting to share that we were pregnant. But in some ways, I was grateful that others knew about our baby because this little life was celebrated. Others rejoiced with us in their arrival and grieved with us at their loss. And it helped me to feel that even though I wouldn’t have tangible proof of this baby’s life, they were not forgotten. Their short little life was celebrated and welcomed by many.

From the moment I saw our still, little baby on the screen until now, Job 2:10 has run through my mind. “How can we accept good from God and not adversity?” Even though it hurts, I know that God is good and that is plans are not only right, they are perfect. And while this is what we prayed against, His way has prevailed. Throughout the process, we knew that His plan was reigning over us, but it is hard to accept. It will never make sense to me, and so I’m trying to be content with accepting that I will simply never understand. And that’s ok, because His ways are higher than mine. We don’t know why God chose to write this into our story. But we offer Him praise for giving us this life anyway. Psalm 139:16 says that he knows the number of our days before a single one comes to be. And while we thought our baby would have many more days, God gave them to us, in full knowledge that a few short weeks was the number of this baby’s life. And I am blessed to have been chosen to carry this little one, to love them, to be their mother. It is hard to offer praise in the midst of grief, but even if it feels monotonous, I choose to. To search for and grab hold of the tiniest fabric of praise. I have to. Because it heals my heart and I know that God is still good.

The thoughts of what if’s and fears for future pregnancies swirl close to my heart and mind. But in the midst of such sadness, I can’t give them too much thought or leeway. Otherwise they would overtake me.

It is cruel to experience such a loss, and for me, especially now that I am a mother. When I birthed Abi Kate, I birthed my motherhood. And so I approached this pregnancy differently than hers in some ways, simply because I was already a mother this time and I hadn’t experienced motherhood yet when I was pregnant with her. I loved this baby deeply, spoke to them and prayed for them, intimately connected to this life from the earliest of days. There were things I felt I already knew about how their personality would be, because I am a mother and a mother knows their child, even from the beginning. And now that they are gone, I know exactly what I will miss with them-- I know what it is to carry life for 9 months, to feel the love that labor brings, to hold a baby in your arms for the first time and examine their face, to learn who they are and what they like, to watch them grow, to nurse them and comfort them. I know exactly what has been lost with this child. So, we didn’t lose just our baby but our plans for them inside this family as well. It is an ache that is hard to describe.

I have known grief in my life, though nothing this deep and heavy. Sometimes it feels so encompassing that I feel almost hollow. And I know that it will take many more weeks than this life was with me to fully mourn their loss. That the lives of others will go back to normal quickly and mine will still be shattered and rocky.  That people will be talking about other things around me, but my mind will be fully fixated on the child I no longer carry. It is too fresh to feel anything other than sorrow right now, but I fear anger and bitterness. I know for some these are healing emotions. But for me, in any grief, they’ve only served to be what they are and have offered no healing-- just the stagnancy of frustration. It is so easy for me to turn to them, but I know they will do me no good. So I am praying against them, and longing to flee from them when they creep near.

This is not what we wanted. Not what we anticipated. Not what we prayed for. But I have seen the evidence that God was with us, lightening the load and giving us peace in these moments. Though it would appear to be a constant reminder, I feel blessed to teach in the birth community. Because these women understand how sacred the journey of pregnancy is and how valuable each life and experience is, even if it is only for a few weeks. They understand these things in a way most people, even most women, do not. They are not confused about why my grief would run so deep and last so long, why a week later the agony feels just as fresh as the day it happened. So to have them grieve alongside me has been like water for my soul. And the outpouring of love and prayers we have received from friends and family and acquaintances alike has touched our hearts. I haven’t even had to cook dinner in a week because others brought it to us. As a people, we often don’t know what to do or say when others grieve. I’m guilty of that. Some people say too much or the wrong things, but they are trying. Some people say nothing at all, and that’s harder for me to digest. It is such a unique, personal loss and grief that it’s hard to understand unless you have walked through it. And even then, we all mourn differently. But I am so thankful for the people who try, and mostly for those who’ve prayed.

In the hours before our baby was born, a sweet friend sent me a song, knowing that music ministers to my soul. A song I had forgotten about. It was on an album that I had listened to driving to work for months while I was pregnant with Abi Kate. It was a song I skipped every time it came on during that time frame because I was terrified of losing her. But this time, as I listened to it, it ushered in healing and comfort. It spoke to the truth that this baby, though with us for a short time and small in size, is now part of our lives forever, etched into the very fabric of our souls. That we will never “get over” the life and loss of this life, but we will carry them with us always. They will always fill the spot of our second child, the one who made our number 4 instead of 3.  “…I will carry you all my life… I will praise the One Who’s chosen me to carry you.” And because I couldn’t do anything else, this is the song I sang to our baby in the last hours.

We don’t really have good days yet. They mostly feel the same, and the crushing sadness comes in waves. But I know there will be good days in the future. Joshua 1:9 stayed with my heart during this entire pregnancy, especially in times of anxiety. It is so applicable now, and I didn’t realize in the previous weeks how relevant it would be. “Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.” Even in the darkness, He is indeed here.

Monday, May 21, 2012

15 Months In.....


I wrote most of this post about two weeks ago, and am just now getting around to posting it. Apparently, my posting skills are as awesome as my documenting skills….Abi Kate turned 15 months old a few weeks ago. I don’t know why I’m so stunned by the numbers continuing to increase. I mean, she has been getting older for the last year and a half, but I’m always still so shocked that she’s “that old.” I wish I could say that I’ve been super on top of each month’s growth, but life happens. So, some of this stuff she’s been doing since about 13 months and some is more recent. Hats off to the moms who do the month-by-month blogs!

Her personality continues to emerge and we are finding that she is far more like me than we originally thought. Our chill little baby has become quite a firecracker, but a fun one! My mom often says we should’ve made her middle name Katie instead of Kate. Apparently, our “toddlerness” is quite similar. I can’t vouch for myself but she’s definitely a mix of sweet and savory…. ;)

She’s decided that being a picky eater is where it’s at. She still likes all the same foods she always has, it’s just that she prefers them at particular mealtimes. Like those Carribean black beans she’s always loved so much? Offer them for lunch-- No, thanks. For dinner the next night-- oh yes, she will have extra helpings of those please. Her favorite food right now is blueberries. Anytime, any place they are always a winner. (And as a collective household, we are SO ready for blueberry picking season because Kroger is making some serious cash off our child’s taste buds). She loves cheese and yells, “Sheese!” and runs to the fridge if you mention it.(Definitely my kid) She also ran to the refrigerator the other day and yelled, “FOOD!” Obviously, we don’t feed her very often-- just look at her thighs. ;) 

She’s gotten pretty adept at using a spoon and fork and about 90% of the food makes it into her mouth without much mess. Most of the time. I think her favorite thing to eat with a spoon is yogurt-- vanilla, strawberry, Greek- she’s game for them all.

Abi Kate has never been particularly fond of playing with or cuddling stuffed animals, blankets, or lovies. But this past week, she has started carrying around a little stuffed bear that was mine. I was telling her the other day that it was time to go, and she promptly ran out of the kitchen into our bedroom where she’d dropped him, grabbed the bear, and returned with him in tow. Precious! I hope she decides to keep it up. There’s not too many things that are cuter than a toddler walking around with a bear in the crook of their arm.

I think her rolling on the floor fits have increased within the past month. I’m always surprised at how such frustration comes out in such an explosive manner from such a little person. Honestly, it’s just a tad bit funny. Sometimes. A little. She definitely has an opinion about many things-- what she’d like to do or not like to do, where she would and wouldn’t like to play. She always prefers to walk without holding a hand and is genuinely insulted when you insist on holding hands in the parking lot. And while she has quite a few words, it’s not enough for her to verbalize how she’s feeling. So, a stomping/jumping fit of “No! No! No!” usually ensues. This is even more exciting when she’s wearing her squeaky shoes. It’s all age appropriate, and I know this. But wowza. It’s impressive. I was trying to explain her behavior to Tommy the other day and said something along the lines of, “It’s like she’s got this huge personality inside this small body and it just explodes everywhere.” He leaned over, knowingly shaking his head and rubbed my back and said, “Oh yes, I know….” Thanks, sweetie. I will take it as a compliment that you have agreed that my body is ‘small’. ;)

Truly, she’s very pleasant most of the time. She says “hi” and waves to nearly every human being that walks past us in the store, would happily go home with any stranger, giggles freely, and loves giving hugs and kisses to adults and children alike. We’ve found her to normally be one extreme or the other-- very happy or very not. Usually the first.

Sadly, she bit her first little friend the other day (and hopefully her last, though I’m not naïve…). I was mortified to discover that I am raising a vampire. This was one particular phase I was hoping would skip our house, but it seems that it may not. She has bit me once or twice before, but always while she was teething or giving a kiss. (We all confuse kissing and biting, right?!) Apparently, this is something not reserved just for  mommy. Oh, goody. Age appropriate? Yes. Acceptable? No. So I suppose onwards and upwards in new parenting challenges. Look out little friends in the church nursery!

At her 15 month well-check she weighed 22 lbs 2 oz. and is 31 inches tall… roughly the 40% for both. She didn’t say much at the doctor’s office, but when her pediatrician tried to look in her mouth to see her teeth, she quickly put up her little hand, shook her head, and said, “No, no.” She then preceded to purse her lips so he couldn’t look. Bet she’s gonna love the dentist. ;) She just cut her 11th tooth at the beginning of this week. All those teeth make her look more toddler than baby for sure. Thankfully, all molars are officially in. Whew. Molars are hard to grow!

She has about 35-40 words now, which makes communicating with her over basic needs relatively easy. She still loves reading, but only at certain times of the day right now. She loves all things animal, so her current obsession is making animal sounds for cow, horse, goat, sheep, dog, cat, chicken, monkey, pig, owl, lion, and bird. Strange variety, I know. Bird is my new favorite- “tweet tweet” sounds like “bweet pweet”. She still calls for Nora all the time, any time she sees a picture of a dog, a stuffed animal dog… “Hey No-a” or “Noma”. Her speech continues to evolve and things that she used to say, she says differently now. Most words sound similar or nearby to the appropriate pronunciation except for 'water'. She calls it “hoy.” Always. We’re just going to pretend like she’s trying to be bilingual with that one. Ha! She identifies her eyes, nose, ears, hair, feet, toes, hands, and belly (which she affectionately calls “beh-you”. Like when I’m changing her diaper and she lifts up my shirt, points and says “beh-you”! Thanks, honey.)  She also desperately loves this video. She was in Tommy’s lap one night while he was using the computer, so he went to Youtube and looked up nursery rhymes. She loves almost all of the videos from this group, and honestly, I think they’re just plain bizarre. Nonetheless, she will walk up to the laptop, tap it, and say “Baa Baa” and start dancing. And P.S. if you’re friends with me on Facebook and this video popped up in your feed from me, it is because my lovely husband hacked my page and posted it for like 10 minutes before I realized it. My taste in music really isn’t that bad.

We started a music class a few weeks ago that I think she’s really enjoying. There’s dancing, tonal patterns, rhythmic practice, instruments, finger plays. All sorts of fun, age-appropriate, musical goodness. Sometimes she’s incredibly participatory and other times she’d rather look out the window while the music plays. :) It’s a fun time with her and since I love all things music, I really look forward to it each week. I think she enjoys experimenting with the instruments most. It’s been a fun addition to our weekly Books & Babies day.

This age has been the most trying by far, but also extremely rewarding. I like how God balances those things out for us. ;) I’m intrigued by this developmental period (because I’m a dork, I know). She understands far more than she’s capable of verbalizing, follows easy directives but isn’t able to respond with appropriate words yet. She’s just at this “spongey” time where she’s soaking up everything and constantly learning. All kids at this age are this way. Really, the first five years are just one big spongey experience. But the visible learning comes in waves, and I enjoy watching it like any parent does. 

It's funny she's only been with us for 15 months. It seems like she's just always been ours, in this family as long as it's existed. Despite the trying moments, I will take her just as she is-- laced with meltdowns and giggles alike. Her life and presence in our home is a precious gift.

Friday, May 11, 2012

Three's a Party, Four's a Crowd


Yep, looks like we are moving to “crowd” status! Tommy and I found out a few days before Easter that we are pregnant. We are so excited to experience this again together and add to the dynamics of our family. We kept it a secret from everyone for the first few days, just us two knowing. That’s always such a tender time to me, when we are the only ones who know. :) We told our families on Easter and sent out these cards to a few friends, asking them to keep it a secret, too. 

P.S. They don't make SugarMamas anymore. They stopped in the 80's. Disappointing, huh? So we improvised. And then a week or two later, I just had this candy sitting out on my dresser and it's been SO long since I've eaten it, so I tried the Sugar Babies.... and after picking two little pieces out of my teeth for an hour, I decided that they make much better pregnancy announcements than they do candy. :p 

We actually wanted to wait a bit later to announce it publicly, but much like with Abi Kate, I couldn’t hide it well anymore. At 8 weeks, I had a visible baby belly and my pants completely stopped buttoning/zipping. My babies like to make their presence known. Welcome back, belly band. :)

People always want to know if you were “trying” or not, which is always really funny to me because that’s basically dispelling the secrets of your sex life. But I will sacrifice myself on the altar of dignity for inquiring minds-- our answer is yes and no. We knew we wanted to really start trying for a baby in the coming months, we’ve always wanted our children to be about 2 years apart, and we assumed it would take a few months to get pregnant because it took a few purposeful months to bring us Abi Kate. We use Natural Family Planning, so I chart and all that entails. In March, we decided just to forgo the charting, ignore any and all signs of fertility, and only have sex when we wanted to, no “trying” involved. We knew we could possibly get pregnant but didn’t think we would. In fact, I thought we’d probably missed the “window of opportunity” so to speak anyway. Clearly, this is the way to get pregnant very quickly.

The day we found out, I was kinda unsure about whether or not we were pregnant. All along, I hadn’t given much thought to it because I assumed it was unlikely we would be pregnant. As that Wednesday drug on, I started having all the same signs of pregnancy that I did with Abi Kate right before I ‘d gotten a positive test. In fact, when I was doing my makeup that day, I looked at myself in the mirror and said, “Oh my gosh. I think you’re pregnant!” You talk to yourself like that too, right?! I spent an hour or two going back and forth about whether or not I should get a pregnancy test. Honestly, every woman knows the number one way to start your period is to go spend 20 bucks on a test. I really just didn’t want to waste the money (cheap, anyone?!) But my curiosity got the best of me after I passed a CVS twice that day, so I ran in and grabbed one. This is not my first time buying a pregnancy test, obviously. It has happened many times within almost 6 years of marriage, but I swear I feel the same way everytime when I get up to the counter. I always think, “Please don’t talk to me about this. Don’t ask me if we want a baby, are we trying, don’t we know what causes this, or anything else.” And especially, since I had Abi Kate on my hip, I was expecting some fabulous commentary from the aging woman at the counter. She didn’t say a thing, just smiled and said, “Good luck!” as I was walking out the door. I guess that could go both ways. Ha!

Being me, I could not wait to test, so I ran to the bathroom. And this is what I saw the second I put it down…


 I knew it was possible, but I was still so surprised! I cried (happy tears) and laughed all at the same time, and said “Yay!” with Abi Kate who shouted it back in unison. I also can’t keep anything from Tommy for any amount of time. So I texted him and asked who in our family had a December birthday. He said he couldn’t remember, to which I responded with a picture of the pregnancy test and said “How about baby #2”. Romantic, right?! A text. I just couldn’t wait. So we celebrated that night and talked about how surreal it felt.

So far, this pregnancy has been similar to Abi Kate’s in a few ways. With Abi, I was sick from about 5 and half weeks pregnant all the way through delivery. It was pretty much round the clock nausea that lightened up around 20 weeks, but I still spent a lot of time near a toilet or sucking down peppermints to stave off nausea. I’ve been sick with this little one, as well, though not as heavily. It comes in waves and passes more easily. A lot of people have asked me if I feel like that means it’s a boy. I don’t. Being the worrier I am, I’m actually grateful for the sickness because it makes me feel like things are progressing. So, we prayed that I just wouldn’t be as sick as I was with Abi. I was really concerned about how I would be able to care for her if I were constantly plastered to the couch or the looking for the nearest bush to vomit in, which is essentially what I did during the first part of her pregnancy. Abi Kate is also still nursing and I was concerned about meeting a caloric intake to sustain my milk supply and sustain a healthy pregnancy if I were constantly throwing up. I honestly just feel like God has answered our prayers. I also feel like preparation makes a difference. Entering into pregnancy with Abi, I just assumed I wouldn’t be sick. Please do not ask me why I was laboring under that delusion. With this baby, I assumed I would be disgusting sick and lose weight like I did with her. I was prepared for it and already knew what worked for me and what didn’t in terms of treating nausea, or rather surviving it. Having a 1 year old also helps because I literally just do not have time to think about how sick I’m feeling. Sometimes that makes it harder, but many times it has helped keep my mind off of the physical symptoms, and I really think that has helped me cope with it much better than I did previously. I have fewer food aversions this time which is good since I’ve been a bit ravenous (nursing and pregnancy combined will do that to you). It’s an interesting balance, feeling so hungry yet so nauseated by the thought of food at the same time… definitely an experience.

What’s exactly the same is the fatigue. It is so heavy and thick, just like it was with Abi Kate. It’s always shocking to me how encompassing that tired feeling can be. I literally dream these crazy, vivid, deep dreams every time I fall asleep be it for 20 minutes or 7 hours. And I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck upon waking each time. I have had to take a step back from a few things, let go of some personal expectations, and embrace resting. Abi Kate still takes two naps a day and I am so thankful for that because I typically take advantage of both of those nap times and sleep. It means I am less productive in the daytime, my house is less clean, I have less energy to go and do things, but it is necessary. A lot of people believe in pushing through the fatigue, but I believe in listening to what my body is telling me. If it’s telling me I need sleep, then I need to sleep. Plain and simple. There’s a lot of theories about “fighting the fatigue”, but as long as there’s nothing pathologically wrong with me, my body won’t lie to me. I try to take advantage of the times that Abi Kate is awake to go for a walk or do physical activities (I did pilates with her the other day. That was exciting. Between her and the dog I became a human jungle gym). Occassionally, physical activity helps with the tiredness, but only lightly.  I’m grateful to be home during this time so I can rest as I need to.

I have also noticed that the snarkiness is already emerging….Oh dear. In pregnancy, I tend to be far less patient with adults and I tend to have far more opinions that I feel the need to offer up far more freely. Lovely combo, I know. The girls I taught with while I was carrying Abi Kate referred to this as “Pregnant Katie.” Well she has returned in full glory, and maybe even more in need of a muzzle than before. So, if and when you hear my snarky comments, you’ll understand.

 We had an early ultrasound at my request to check on baby. At the imaging center we went to, they offer only abdominal ultrasounds. At 8 weeks, a baby is visible with an external ultrasound but it is very small. At first, the tech couldn’t find anything and I was beginning to freak out on the table. Tommy said it was all over my face. She stopped and said, “I think baby is just hanging out really low.” And sure enough, there was sweet baby with their little heart flickering away. I carried Abi Kate very low as well--guess some places are just more cozy than others. :) What was so neat about this ultrasound is that the big black space directly to the right of baby-- that is actually a mark from where Abi Kate’s sac was. 

I cried when she showed me. It was so sentimental to me that I still carry the marks of Abi within me. And even more so that this little one has implanted directly beside her. Maybe it’s a sign that they will be close. :) She turned up the volume on the ultrasound and we were able to hear baby’s heart beating. It’s such a precious sound. Baby’s little heart maintained a steady 150 bpm during the entire scan.

I would really like to say that I’ve grown tremendously since carrying Abi Kate and that I am unconcerned and confident. But that’s not true. I feel equally as vulnerable in this pregnancy as I did in my first, frequently worried that I will miscarry this precious life that I already love. I feel like the worry has been harder to combat this time, though Tommy swears it was just the same with Abi Kate (I’m glad he remembers!!). I really had such a fantastic pregnancy with Abi Kate. She was always healthy, and minus the regular throwing up, I was always healthy. I was low risk, had a beautiful unmedicated labor and birth. And I guess I find myself struggling to believe that this could happen to me more than once. I know more people who’ve had tragedy in their pregnancies than those who haven’t, and that’s never far from my mind. I have to regularly remind myself that the health and success of my first pregnancy wasn’t just a lucky occurrence. It was a result of answered prayer from a faithful God. So, I am desperately trying to cling to that truth and walk in faith. This time period is always difficult for me, but diligence in my prayer life and quoting scripture helps dispel the fear.

I’m excited about this time because I love being pregnant. I know a lot of people want to be tiny and small throughout their pregnancies. I don’t feel this way at all-- just the opposite. I love the growing and those first subtle movements. It is such a sacred time and has proven so far to be a rich time of spiritual growth for me again. We are so grateful for this sweet life that will be joining us in December. If this baby is anything like their sister, they’ll arrive “on time”. Which means I’ll get to rock the “2 under 2” banner for about a month before Abi Kate’s second birthday. I think that means fun and busy times are ahead! It’s still bizarre to me to think of Abi Kate as being a big sister. I assume that will change the further along I get.

Our first appointment with our midwife is in 2 weeks. I can’t wait to hear that sweet little heart again. It brings such reassurance and excitement. And in the meantime, we are celebrating and thankful and puking and sleeping and all things first trimester-ish. This is the sweet stuff of life. 

Tuesday, May 8, 2012

Bring On the College Years


Oh, adulthood. It’s a strange thing, isn’t it? I think as little children we’re always chasing after it, or at least what it has to offer. Freedom from bedtimes and rules, being able to do what you want when you want-- choices. And then you go to high school where you’re ready to get out and move away to college and start your life. But so many people in the background are saying, “These will be the best years of your life! You’ll be dying to return.” And then there’s college, and you spend those four (sometimes five…oops!) years thinking that it is real life. Until you graduate. And you realize college was not reality but you have now, finally met real life face to face.

I can’t say I’ve fallen into the “high school was the best time of my life” group. Like at all. Every time I drive past my old high school, I feel like shouting, “Freedom!!” You know, the Mel Gibson version from Braveheart. I didn’t have a bad high school experience, just the opposite. But I always felt that people were so dramatic and mostly disingenuous with their thoughts and their friendships. And when I look at the Facebook pages of many current high schoolers, I see that this is still the case. I guess it’s true- “the more things change the more they stay the same.” And just like every high school teenager, I said, “Oh I’m going to move away to college as soon as I graduate.” False. This did not happen, and I’m so not sad about it. Word of the wise-- there are very few careers that consider the school that you received your undergraduate from. Do yourself a favor-- go to the state school. You’ll thank yourself later when you aren’t swimming in student loan debt, and you can use your salary for whatever you want.

While it’s true that I drive past the high school and don’t miss it, driving near campus is an entirely different story. It’s funny because I thought I’d never miss college either. Wrong. I remember the first week of classes as a freshman, I was so overwhelmed and thought I’d never enjoy it. But time passed, and I began to appreciate the independence college lends over your schedule, the love affair it spurned with coffee. I became a fantastic parking place stalker (if you’ve been a student at MTSU, you completely understand this statement), managed to enjoy the downtime between classes when I had a sucky schedule by treating myself to Starbucks on campus, and I even narrowed down the walk between the Honors building and Peck Hall to a quick 8 minute trek (P.S. WHY on earth did I schedule myself that walk for 3 semesters in a row?!). It really was a time of responsibility without the immediate consequences--- definitely NOT real life. Stay up too late the night before? It’s ok, just skip class the next morning and sleep in. There’s no attendance policy. Sure, you might scramble to make up what you missed, but really no big deal. Spend 8 hours studying for an exam the day before because you haven’t looked at the information at all in the previous weeks? Passed test. It’s funny because I kinda had this sense I was living in the real world. There’s lots of people who are all busy and consumed with what they’re doing at the moment. You walk past them in herds, say thank you to the person who holds the door for you, eat near them in the University Center while you both study different course work, and then you sit in class and form an acquaintance based on your mutual dislike for the professor who reads his lecture notes from a legal pad that is older than you…. If you compared the picture, it looks a lot like people passing each other in a work building, being busy with some task, living in the real world. But it’s not really-- the people are different and the consequences aren’t the same. You’re accountable, but only to yourself. Things are easier in college. More free. Some of my closest friendships were formed there. In fact, I have fond memories of going to a friend’s apartment on campus in between classes while we both trudged through the chaos of 18 hours and 2 teaching practicums, case studies and observations… Swear, what was I thinking?! I met her my first day of class after switching majors in my junior year. I sat down beside her in an Educational Psychology class (which I was always chronically late for). I’d been married for a few months and she was planning her wedding. We became friends and stayed friends, through marriage and graduation, new jobs, new homes, and now as we build our families. And naively, I have thought that all my relationships would be this way if I just wanted them to. That the time you spend investing in others spills out into friendships that lasts, friendships that allow you to talk about the hard things, that challenge each other with confrontation, that are vulnerable with honesty, that are transparent and don’t hide the brokenness that exists in each person’s life. Sharing life with each other. But I am learning that this is not always the case, not in the real world. Not in a world where even other believers are broken and incapable of transparency, of showing the ugliest parts of themselves.
It’s been hard for me, and it’s had me missing my time in college-- when things were easy and relationships were soft. When I was unaware of the cost of pouring your life into others. When the responsibility of choices felt light. I’m learning that you just can’t lay down roots in every friendship, even if you wanted to so badly. Not all people are open to that.  In fact, many of the people that you pour yourself into will walk in and then walk out of your life. It might not be immediately. It might be years down the road, which makes it harder I think. Some people enter your life, take what they need, and exit as quickly as they arrived. Some people throw themselves into and out of friendships whenever things get difficult or whenever it’s time to move to the next level of honesty of vulnerability, making a slow exit, leaving you in the wake to figure out where things stand. It’s a messy picture, but relationships are messy. Sharing life with other people is messy, and I’ve found that many people just aren’t ready for that type of commitment.

I talked about this with Tommy the other day and with my sister. They are always who I seek when I need counsel. Tommy always speaks directly to my heart. I never have to say much for him to already understand where I’m at and why. He knows me well. And my sister encouraged me to think on the example set by Christ-- the commitment Jesus had to His Father, and His disciples- his friends--just lagging along half-heartedly as He was deeply invested, taking what they needed from Him…. She reminded me that this is the model for our relationships. Except we aren’t the Perfect loving the imperfect. We’re the imperfect soul loving other imperfect souls, which complicates things. That the investment isn’t what matters as much as bringing glory to God through loving others rightly. Because really, it just isn’t about me. Even though I want it to be, to be about my friendships and the closeness that I feel to others. Even though I think I cast that off, my needs and my wants…. There I am again, with all my expectations wrapped up in other people. But what happens in this life in terms of relationships has much more to do with the Kingdom of Christ than it has to do with me.

Sometimes the cost of investing in others to not have it reciprocated is high. To think that there is a mutual sacrifice and sharing of life together and then find out that isn’t it the case-- it’s hard. And it hurts. But this…. THIS is real life... Where people hurt and aren’t whole, where communication failures abound, where the façade of perfection reigns over the realities of brokenness.  Where people put up walls and keep others out. Where people aren’t kind and are sinful--even me. The consequences and realities are much harder than that in college. Real choices lead to real effects.  The accountability is heavy. It is the reality of adulthood.

Of course, no child knows that this is what they are chasing after. Otherwise, they’d happily accept their naptime, orange juice, and the little friend that keeps demanding they share the toys. But it is real. And even though there’s sadness involved, there’s hope too.  “.. Behold, I am making all things new…” Rev. 21:5. I believe that extends to hearts and people, even to relationships.  I am trying to remember this, so when people disappoint me (and they will, just like I will disappoint them), I can keep a better perspective on my calling and my purpose. That I will choose to find my expectations in the person and completed work of Jesus Christ instead of in others.  It’s a hard road to walk, but one I do not walk alone. And as I’ve entered into adulthood, I’ve become abundantly grateful for friendships that are real. Ones that are open and honest, capable of weathering hard conversations and reveling in one’s accomplishments without envy. The ones where they walk beside you and live out the Gospel, where the ebb and flow of the relationship looks like constant sacrifice and service-- mutual care. I’m finding these are very rare relationships indeed, but worth pursuing. They might’ve been friendships forged in childhood or adulthood, out of mutual like or necessity, but no matter how they were created there is potential to spur one another on to good works. I’ve always been grateful for friends, but I think this realization has pushed me over to a new level of gratitude. Maybe that was the point all along…..And for these people in my life, the ones who stay and wade through the darkness and celebrate in the joys of life, the ones who check-in when others check-out, for you all…. I am so incredibly thankful.