Today's Story

I've only just started talking about this to people today, because I haven't really known what to say. I think I might be pregnant. But - I really don't know for sure. My cycle was really different this go round and Boy and I decided just to take a test, even though we didn't think there was even a chance of a positive at that point - if I was pregnant, I was, at most, a week past ovulation. (I normally know when I ovulate due to intense pain, but still hadn't experienced it yet. I had all the lead up to ovulation symptoms, but then nothing. I figured there was a chance I slept through it this time, since I've been so exhausted lately.) So, we test... and nothing. Ok, expected as much. Assuming that something delayed ovulation, and I'm still waiting.
A hour or two later, I come back to the bathroom and take another look at the test (know I'm not alone in this), there faintest of faint, is a line. Well, technically this is not supposed to count. They say not to read the test after ten minutes - evaporation lines can happen, but my experience with these tests have never shown evaporation lines. We decided to try another one - same deal. I'm beginning to realize that I'd been experiencing a few things that generally only happen to me when pregnant - pain while nursing, leg cramps, etc. At the same time, a dull ache begins in my lower back, the kind of ache I get in the days before I miscarry. Now I'm just in a cloud. Am I  pregnant? Not? Pregnant and going to miscarry again? How much of this is simply psychological? I mean, the back pain started the moment I showed Boy the faint line.
Ok, let's give it a couple of days and try again. This time we decide to have have Boy do a test, too. A control group of sorts. Two hours later mine shows a faint line, his nothing. One hour later, his shows a line even fainter than mine. I say line, but they're really more shadows. If it's possible to feel more confused, I do. I tested twice more since then, two days apart each time, and gotten the same results. I know that "officially" these are not positive tests, but then why has my body felt this way for the past week and a half? But if they're positive why did Boy's test turn up a line? But, if they're just evaporation lines, why have these test never shown one in the past? (Believe me, I've checked.)
Here's one of my biggest problems right now - I don't know if there is any way for me to confirm that I'm not pregnant. I feel like I am, or was, anyways. I could be miscarrying and have it start the same day I would normally expect my period. On the other hand, I may never be able to confirm more than this that I am pregnant. I may never get a stronger test line, and, well, a miscarriage could start the same day I would normally expect my period. For some, this might not be a big deal. Don't think about it too deeply and when the period shows up on time, or a day or two late, assume that's it and move on. No pregnancy, no worries. This is basically what my sister said she'd do, when I tried to talk to her about it. But see, it just doesn't work that easily for me. I've had too many babies this way. If there is a baby there, they're mine. They're important to me. I want to name them, remember them. How do I do that if I'm not entirely sure they exist? But, how do I not do that, if I think they do? To not name them, write their dates down with all their siblings, tell my parents... I'm not acknowledging them, I'm ignoring them, disowning them. I can't do that to my baby! On top of that, how do I tell my family? "Yeah, so I'm pretty sure I was pregnant and miscarried, so I named them            ." My one sister has basically already said she wouldn't take it seriously.
My heart aches. I hate waiting periods. I hate not knowing what is going on (with pretty much anything). When I tested this morning, Boy and I watched the pink flow across the viewer, and for a minute saw a line come into sight. I was so happy. I knew it didn't mean that I wasn't miscarrying again, but it meant I could know. I could be sure of the life there and I'd know where I stood. But then, as the pink faded away to leave the control line (dark and strong), the test line faded too. Again, it's shadow showed up two hours later, but I still don't know what that means...

After that first shadow, I panicked. The familiar stab of fear shot through my soul. Pregnant? What if I lose them? What if I lose them? I cried and prayed, occasionally on my knees, hoping that God would see my earnestness and my humility before him. As much as I was asking him to let my baby (if one currently existed, or when the next one did) live, I was also asking how I would get through this again. Asking for simply the strength to handle it, to handle a pregnancy and the fear that would go with that; to handle another miscarriage, if that's what life held for me. I searched scripture - mainly the Psalms, like so many troubled souls before me - for comfort. I no longer search for words on what the outcome will be, or reassurance of the outcome I want. I simply want to find strength to get me through whatever happens. I want to find peace and the assurance that God is actively loving me no matter what my circumstances are telling me.
Eventually, the frantic, on edge feeling wore down, and I felt, not quite peace, but enough calm to move on with my daily life. Since then, God continues to give me a sense of calm about it all. It's not constant, but the emotions are more sadness and confusion than fear and panic. For that I'm thankful. I don't know what will happen when I finally get a reliable positive test, or the pre-peroid/possible miscarriage starts, but today I'm holding on.

All of that huge post is has been my life's background chatter for the past week. Today has added more to the pile. It's a very gray day here today. The sun is shining (thank God for sunshine) outside, but inside our house is a gray cloud. Last year, FIL had a malignant melanoma removed from the back of his shoulder. Today it was confirmed that the cancer had spread to his liver. As of yet, we don't have a definite prognosis or treatment plan, but it doesn't look good. Boy doesn't know how to process the likelihood of his father's life ending. A few hours after that news, Boy received a rejection letter from the last church he had an application out too, the last church with a position available that fit him and our family. Now what?
Matthew 6:32-34 ³² For the pagans run after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them. ³³ But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well. ³⁴ Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.

List of Love

In an effort to see and recognize God working in my life and reaching out to me with his passionate love, I've decided that I need to start writing things down - making a list a blessings and love filled moments in my life. Writing them down will help me to take the time to think about them, to process them more deeply in my memory, and give me something to look back on when I need reminders.

This is my list for this weekend:

The sunshine through my window.

The blessing of Bug in my life.

Someone yesterday heard my story and told me they'd been praying for me that afternoon.
Another one I barely know, told me that they would pray for me as well.

I read an excerpt from the The Jesus Storybook Bible (Go ahead. Read the "first pages" section. Amazing. We are so buying this book.)
It's a rare Sunday that I feel I can honestly sing the worship songs at church. This was one of those days. This weekend has been a step forward for me.
The way my husband intimately prayed for me at our Bible time.

All of these things made me feel the love of God reaching out to me or gave me a sense of peace I don't often feel. We are heading into what could likely be a few rough days. Hopefully, I will continue to feel God's love surrounding and carrying me.

My Story

I used to know that God loved me. I was so confident in it. I knew I was cherished, treasured; deeply, passionately loved. That knowledge flowed through me like power.
Those that know my story (or that have never been connected to a pet) may find the next part of my story frivolous or shallow. I had a cat. I loved this cat. He cheered and comforted me when little else could. He was a sleek beauty that cuddled up with me. Then, I lost him. In mid-January, in Ontario. My heart broke, and every time I thought about him being out in the (literally) freezing cold it broke a little more. I prayed. And prayed. I searched scripture for comfort. This was my baby. I was so desperate for him to come home, for someone to find him. I believe God would return him to me. I believed God had shown me that my precious kitty would come home.
When Dodger didn't come home that was the beginning of my faith anchor coming loose. Shortly after that I went through a two year bout of depression. I've met a few other Christians who've dealt with depression, and none of them have made it through without losing, to various degrees, their connection to God. It was the same for me. I couldn't find him anymore. The God I'd felt so close too, became far away. I tried and tried, but I simply couldn't feel him. I used to see his love in the sunset, the wind, a bird singing on my porch. I saw him all around me and though out my life. Now the connection had withered away. I didn't know where God was.
When my body finally regained it's equilibrium, and I could function normally without anti-depressants, I worked on regaining that connection. I desperately wanted it back in my life. I wanted the peace and strength I had received from it. But, I could never quite figure out how to get there again.
When I began to miscarry my first child, JJ, I worried that it would destroy what remaining faith I had. It didn't. I knew that God hadn't caused the death, and that he could carry me through the pain, even if I couldn't feel him.
That fist miscarriage threw my body into upheaval. I went through months of hormonal caused intense anxiety, and constant pain in my side (which made the anxiety worse).  The pain was finally (stupid doctors) diagnosed as endometriosis, and as much as possible was removed reducing the side pain, and thankfully, my debilitating period cramps. Now I just get pain side pain when I ovulate, and pain killers actually manage the cramps.
All through those anxious months, Boy and I kept seeing bunnies (real, live bunnies) in unexpected places. I don't remember why exactly, but they became our signals from God - the he was with us, and loving us just as greatly as ever. The bunnies continued to show up throughout my (worry and fear filled) pregnancy with Bug. (It's fitting that his nursing/sleeping friends are two little stuffed bunnies.) There were also run-ins with people I hadn't seen in forever, and friends in unexpected places with just the right words, that made me think God was watching out for me and baby, and that maybe things were going to be ok this time.
My relationship with my heavenly father was healing, but never returned to it's previous security. I've become overly cynical, and critical of Christian platitudes. I used to be free and excited in worship. Now I question those who are overtly exuberant. These feelings have become more ingrained as I've lost three more children over the past year. I get frustrated at Christians who say things like, "God shows his love by bringing trials," and I wonder whether they've ever experienced great grief or trauma. Would they still believe that statement? I don't. I believe that God shows his love, not by bringing us trials, but by bringing us through the trials this crappy world is made of.
This is my story. This is my struggle to get back to believing God and the promises he made in his word. I continue to seek him and to pray for the healing of my bruised and broken spirit.

Change of Direction

I originally started this blog to talk about parenting, specifically attachment/natural/instinctive parenting since I didn't have anyone in real life to talk to about it (except of course, my very patient husband, who listens to me rant about the same things over and over). Lately, (as I'm sure you can tell) my urge/need/ideas for writing in this area have somewhat dried up (I do have a vaccination post that I'm sort of, vaguely working on, and may finish someday). Instead, I'm finding that I need a place to write about my journey of heartbreak through miscarriage, and how it's affecting my emotions and my faith.
I know that most of my readers came here for the parenting writing, and that talking about faith (specifically "I believe in Christ and salvation" kind of faith) may not be your cup of tea. If you decided to stop reading, I will be sad to lose you, but I wish you the best and you can find other excellent blogs in my "Friends" page. I will probably still post about parenting and related issues when the drive hits me, but as recent history has shown, it may not be very frequently.
Love to all, and I hope you'll hang around for a while yet!

What Do You Think?

Being a really great mom is one of my biggest desires. While the description of  a "really great mom" may vary from person to person, I think I'm probably not alone in this. I'm sure I'm also not alone in having a few faults to overcome.  The other night I realized something - one of my biggest hurdles is worrying about what other people think of me. I am at heart a people pleaser. I like to make other people happy. I can't stand it when someone is even a little bit upset with me. So when it comes to parenting my Bug it's not unusual for me to be at conflict with myself.
While I believe that children need boundaries, I also believe that kids should be allowed to be kids. They shouldn't be expected to sit still and be quiet all the time, but it should be expected that they will run, jump, yell, laugh, climb, explore, poke, and test. I think that they should be given the freedom to do these things as long as it won't endanger them, or anyone else, or pass the line of respect and love for others. But all to often, I find myself worried about what others are thinking of me and my parenting skills. Are they thinking that I let him run wild? Wondering why I don't control him? Frustrated that I'm not stepping in to tone him down? Is he bothering anybody in any way? (it is obviously my responsibility to make sure he never bothers anyone...) And then I fall into that trap, that somehow children are lesser people than adults. I start to control this "extension of me," forgetting that he is his own person, equally entitled to express his desires and do the things he likes to do, as any one else is.  He needs me to let him be who he is, to not hinder his spirit or personality. That doesn't mean that I allow him to run crazy, but to accept that he's two, and exploring and learning and being.

Exploring a random church kitchen

Bug is two and a half years old now and still nursing a few times a day, several times a night, and co-sleeping -  starting in his sidecar-ed crib and later with his mama. He's never been what would normally be labeled as a "good sleeper."  Even now his average sleep is about 2.5 hours before he wakes to nurse and then resettles to  sleep. Even though I'm choosy about who I share this information with, I still face the occasional comment about how maybe I should wean him (or night wean him),  that he's old enough to sleep in his own bed, or that CIO won't hurt him, etc. Especially with how far he seems to be from "sleeping through the night" (in quotes because everyone has their own definition as to what this means),  it's not hard for me to feel as though I've somehow failed in this aspect of parenting. Perhaps I should try one of these suggestions from parents who get a full nights sleep.
Oh, wait! Did I totally skip over the part where I'm nursing a toddler! at times in public! Yeah, I'm not really sure of what people think of that either. So far, I've not had to deal with any negativity, but I'm always wondering, "What are they thinking? Do they think I'm strange? That we're a bit of a freak show?" So, I keep questioning if I'm making the right decisions or freaking people out, if they think I'm coddling my little one, giving in to his demands, or even harming his development. Sometimes I push off giving him "sidey" (nursing) if I'm afraid it will weird someone out, or I start thinking about night weaning, wondering if we'd all get more sleep. He needs me to remember that for now, for him, most of these things are needs, and he relies on me to fill his needs, not neglect them.

Nursing Bug with a lap full - one baby, two bunnies, and two kitties, one stuffed, one real.

I hate conflict. Hate, hate, hate it. Which is why this last thing is always the hardest for me. Every now and then another adult will feel the need to step in with my child and bring whatever version of discipline they think is right. Sometimes, not a big deal. Sometimes he's needed someone to set a boundary. Sometimes they employ measures that are not used or acceptable to our family. I've had one mom put Bug on a time out. I watched and boiled (our little used version of the time out is a "break" sitting with Mama until spirits can calm), but Bug was unfazed by it - sat on the step for a minute and than got up and wandered off, so I didn't worry too much about speaking up. But there was another time, when Bug had a toy he'd been playing with for a while, and one of his friends kept trying to take it from him, leading to fighting. The other mom stepped in and removed the toy, stating that if they couldn't share nicely, it was time for it go away for a little while. I've used this tactic before, but in this situation Bug was in the right to be granted some peace to play with the toy, not have it taken from him simply because he was trying to defend himself. Poor Bug looked so confused and hurt, and I didn't say anything. I felt so ashamed of myself, but I just couldn't get up the guts to confront her. It didn't help that she was someone close to me, and whom I tend to offend easily. I didn't want to deal with the fallout, and so I let my son down. He needs me to be his defender, his safe spot, the one he looks to to protect him when he can't protect himself,  the one who helps him see that just because they are adults doesn't mean they are always right. He needs to know that his Mama is always on his side.

Hahaha. Even as I write this, I keep thinking, "What will readers think? Will they think I'm too soft on him? That I don't ever discipline him? That I think my son is always right and nobody should tell him what to do? Maybe I should clarify more. Explain one more thing." Ahhh! See, it's a problem.

New Year Blues

Anyone else not totally thrilled with a new year? As calendars turned over, I saw comment after comment excited about the new year. "Yay! A new year," "I love the new year, a fresh start," "Looking forward to a new year," etc. But for me I found that it only brought this vague feeling of dread.
The past year was a bad one for me and mine. We lost three babies, an uncle, and Boy's employment. I was looking forward to it being over, to having a chance for things to turn around. I just wanted to put that year and all it's bleakness behind me. But as the new year started, I realized that I didn't feel different. I didn't have a greater feeling of hope or a sense of a clean slate. Instead, I felt a subtle current of fear. What if this year isn't any different? What if we can't figure out why I've had four miscarriages so far? What if I have more? What if Boy isn't able to find a job? What if he finds one and it turns out to be bad? What if this year holds some other unexpected tragedy? This time last year, I had no idea what the months would hold for me. I certainly wasn't expecting all the heartache that would come. I want that clean slate, fresh start, but I realize that just because I pulled out a new calendar doesn't mean I've pulled out a new life. So I feel somewhat scared about what might happen this year.
I want to be someone who counts their blessings instead of focusing on the dark spots, so I talked to Boy today and asked him, "What were some of the good things of this past year?" We could think of a few - certainly watching Bug grow and develop, starting to speak in sentences, learning how to pedal his trike, gaining comfort and confidence in group settings; also a new nephew, enjoying times at the in-laws cottage,

Bug at the cottage

and starting a games night with some friends - but, those things feel overshadowed, creating a dark year for us.
I greatly hope that this year will be one of joy and celebration for us - a great job, a new baby, continued time to connect with family and friends. God willing, there is a change just over the horizon for us, something to give us hope and that fresh start. Heck, even writing all this down has given me a slightly brighter outlook.

I've never been one for New Year's resolutions, but in the spirit of fresh starts and new focus there is one thing that I want to do - sit down with Boy and detail a family vision. It's something that's been on my mind for a while now. Thanks to blogs like Passionate Homemaking and The Mommypotamus the idea of a family vision has been growing on me, and I can see the potential benefits it would have. It doesn't have to be anything huge or complicated, simply a list of what our priorities are and simple things that will help our lives to reflect them. For example, for us family is very important, not just our little family, but extended as well. One thing that I want to start doing to strengthen those bonds, is set up regular Skype dates with grandparents and other family we live far from. I think having a family vision written down will give us more focus and something to fall back to when making decisions, "Does it fit with our family vision?"  That's my new start for our new year, something fresh and hopeful to focus on.

May your new year be full of joy and wonderfulness. May sorrow be a stranger.

You Miscarried? (Crap, What Do I Say?) - Consolation in the Face of Uncommon Grief

Nobody is an expert at grief. We always feel bad when we don't know what to say or do in the face of someone else's loss, but it's normal to feel awkward and hesitant. Nothing can fix the situation, and some things can make it worse. We don't want to hurt the already hurting person. This all becomes compounded when dealing with a miscarriage. There is an extra level of mystery and confusion surrounding miscarriages, and for many, it's just more foreign. Almost everyone has experienced the death of someone they know and love, but fewer have personal experience with the death of someone who wasn't even born yet. People often feel even more clueless as to how to support and comfort in the face of this unfamiliar tragedy.
Having recently been through this for the fourth time (awesome), I'm beginning to get a better and better idea of what I want and don't want from other people, of what is helpful and what is not. I know that this list wouldn't be the same for everyone, but hopefully it will give some guidance to someone who is stumbling through this unknown. So, a few of my do's and don't's for dealing with someone who has had a miscarriage:

1. Do send a card, flowers, or food as you feel led. This shows that you acknowledge it as a real loss, not just an unfortunate incident.
2. Do say, "I'm sorry you lost your baby. Is there anything I can do?" There generally isn't, but is shows you care and want to be supportive.
3. Don't say it if you don't mean it. Can I really call you to help clean my house because I don't have the energy?
4. Do feel free to show interest, but don't pry. If I want to share details with you, I will.
5. Do remember that the pain doesn't stop after the first day. Grief is a long process. I'm not going to be over this tomorrow, or a week from now. One of the most helpful things for me has been my sister who, for the first little while, calls me everyday just to say, "How are you?" It shows me that she cares, she's thinking of me, and she wants to help. It gives me an opportunity to talk if I want to, but the freedom to move on to other subjects if I want that.
6. Unless you are close to me, please don't ask me how I'm feeling. First of all, I don't know if you are asking about me physically or emotionally. Don't make me guess. Secondly - if it's how I'm feeling physically, your question makes it seem like I was simply ill or have a physical problem, not that I'm grieving my baby's death. If there are physical symptoms I'm going through, I'm not likely to share that intimate information with you if we are not close. If your question is how I'm feeling emotionally, would you actually ask that of anyone else going through grief? They are likely to shoot you an, "Are you stupid?" look.  Pick a grief emotion and I've felt it - sad, angry, bitter, numb, betrayed, overwhelmed, guilty, alone, etc. Again, unless we are "share all our secrets" kind of close, I'm not likely going to want to share the intimate details of these emotions with you either.
7. Don't tell me about Susie, or Jane, or your three cousins, or whoever it is that you know that also had a miscarriage, or six, or trouble getting pregnant, or whatever their story is. It's so not helpful on so many levels. 
8. Do tell me your story, if you've been there. It is helpful to simply hear, "I had a miscarriage (or six). I've been where you are." It feels a just a little bit less lonely, and a little bit more understood. Also, a simple statement like that leaves the door open for me to ask about your story, without having it forced on me if I'm not ready.
9. Don't hint at understanding. "I know that it's hard." Do you mean you know loss is hard, or that you know personally that miscarriage is hard? Please just say it straight out. If you are trying to share, but I'm not sure, you haven't really shared anything. 
10.  During my miscarriages, the only people who know are generally family. Afterwards, I don't care anymore who knows. It's my grief and it just might be public. For some people, the whole situation is a very private thing. Unless you are very sure that it's ok, don't share your friend's story with anyone else.
11. Don't ask questions about what I did or didn't do before or during pregnancy. You may simply be trying to help find an explanation and hope for next time, but I'm already wondering if there was something I could have done to change the outcome. Even without a specific reason, a mother is likely to be feeling that she somehow failed her child. I always feel like I've let them, and my husband, down by not being able to hold on to them and support their life.
12. Don't make comments such as, "At least... you have your son... you can try again... it was early..." Those things may be true, and yes, my son is a comfort to me, but these statements just belittle the loss. This was a baby, they were my baby, and I want them.
13. Don't tell me that God had a reason for having this happen. I believe in God. I believe that no life begins or ends without his knowledge. I don't believe that God purposely ends my babies' lives. There is no reason good enough to justify the death of my children. Crap happens because we live in a crap world. I do believe that God can and does take that crap and bring something good out of it - nothing good enough to balance out the loss, but some small redemptive measure. Like, maybe after this, my fourth miscarriage, as I'm able to be more aware of what is helpful and what is not, and I'm prompted to write this post, someone will read this and be better able to support and bring a tiny measure of comfort to a friend going through their own miscarriage. Nowhere near worth being justification for losing my baby, but a tiny good thing that could come out of their very short life.

 Overall, what I want is to have it acknowledged. Acknowledge that I had a baby. Acknowledge that it died. Acknowledge that I'm grieving. Acknowledge that I will be grieving for a while. Don't ignore it. Don't try to make smaller than what it is. Don't make it common. This is my grief and it will be what it will be.

If you've been through pregnancy loss of any kind, feel free to add your own thoughts, tips, experiences.

Again

They all think
I'm doing fine
Handling well this grief of mine
But they don't know
Cause I don't show
Collapsing to the floor at times
The silent screams
The bitter cries
The heart inside me tries to hide

They can't see
What it means to me
Another loss that tried to be
It's old hat
She's used to that
It must have lost intensity
Don't understand
There's no old hand
No such familiarity

Each time is fresh
Each wound is new
Pain that I have not been through
I try to walk
But I can't stand
Crouching, clenching empty hands
Betrayed again
Can't make it stop

Journey Through Baby Sleepland

My Bug is 28 months old and he sleeps with me. We are co-sleeping bed-sharers. (gasp!)
This is not info we share with a lot of people. On the odd time that it gets brought up, it's not unusual to get strange looks or disapproval masked in disbelief. When he was younger, I received a lecture from a concerned friend on how it was dangerous to his development to have him in the room with us. He would never learn to be independent, and trying to teach him to sleep on his own would be a nightmare. Her extreme concern was frustrating and flustering, leaving me with lame replies and half formed sentences. But, trust me, I know what I'm doing.
Before Bug's birth, we prepared for him as any couple would expecting their first child. We painted his room, arranged clothing on the shelves, picked out a tiny first outfit, stocked diapers, and bought a crib. All dark wood and shine, Boy set it up in Bug's room, and I made it up with an organic cotton mattress cover and cute blue sheets. The room was ready. Saying that, we weren't entirely sure when Bug would start to use it. I assumed we would, but I knew there was no way I would be ready for him to be down the hall from me for at least several months. We borrowed a cradle from neighbors and it set it up in our room so that he would be close by. I needed to be able to see him and hear him, to know that he was safe and ok through the night, and at the very beginning he was in our bed, but in his own little spot between us, away from blankets and pillows.
The first night we had Bug at home I began to get an indication that this sleep thing wasn't going to be anywhere near as smooth as I thought it would. I knew newborns woke frequently and needed to nurse often, but I wasn't prepared for him to cry every twenty minutes. It felt like as soon as I put him down, he would cry.  I just fed him. Was he really hungry again? Wasn't he comfortable? Was he hurting? I couldn't figure it out.  After a night or two, it finally occurred to me - this tiny person was used to being completely surround by me every second of day, how could I expect him to suddenly be ok with with not touching me at all? That's when he moved into my arms. Things improved a bit from there, but he continued to wake fairly frequently - anywhere from 30-60 minutes. I wish so much that I had known how to nurse lying down then. It would have made my life so much easier, but I couldn't figure out how to do it. I read one description/diagram, but it just didn't make any sense to me. So, I was getting out of bed at every wake, to sit in the lactation consultant recommend, hard-backed kitchen chair, strap on my (needed in a hard-backed chair) breast-feeding pillow, and nurse my baby. I can't remember how many times I fell asleep sitting there.
As things improved, we brought over the cradle and started trying to get him to sleep in it. I'd nursed him to sleep and slowly lower him into the cradle. Oh, the maneuvers we tried making that transition. Keeping my hand on him until he had settled, not unlatching him until I absolutely had to, even putting a heating pad under his blanket to try to make him think he was still getting Mama's body heat.* He slowly learned to occasionally stay asleep through the move, but his sleep got worse. He went back to waking every twenty minutes, and then it was ten, and then five. He would seem asleep and content, but a few minutes later he would be crying. Ahh! What was wrong with my baby? I asked family and friends for advice to no avail. Finally, a doula we knew suggested that we just bring him back into bed with us and try again later.  I felt so frustrated and discouraged, but it seemed like the only option. So, he came back to bed with us. No more waking after five minutes.
Eventually I stumbled across information that helped me figure out that he had reflux that was greatly worsened by milk in my diet. Cutting out dairy helped, but didn't cure his reflux. We tried raising the head of our bed, but it was no help. Thinking he maybe needed a greater angle, we bought a Tucker sling. Remembering something my sister had done with her babies, we brought that beautiful crib into our room, took off the drop side, and slid it up to the bed.  With the mattress raised and sling installed, we tried to get Bug to sleep there - no go. The angle might have been better for his reflux, but he was not a fan of it otherwise - and trying to get him in and out when he needed to nurse, ugh! It was horrible. The velcro would wake him even more than he was, and attempting to put a sleeping baby back into the sling was ten times worse than the cradle. We gave up quickly.
The sling went out, but the crib stayed. We lifted the head of his mattress for what little help it would give and I relished the bit of extra space it offered, as well as the security of knowing Bug couldn't roll off.  
As he continued to get older, but not sleep any better, I got more frustrated. I kept feeling like I was failing in my job as mother. I couldn't find a way to help him sleep, I couldn't figure out what was wrong with him. I tried everything I could think of - swaddling, an early bedtime, bedtime routine, aroma therapy - everything but cry-it-out. It didn't seem right from the beginning, and as I read more, I knew that it was not an option I would ever try. But, as he grew the pressure was on." It won't hurt him." Yes, it will. "He needs to learn." Not that he doesn't. "He's safe. He's fine." He doesn't know that. But, it was hard to keep the doubt from creeping in. Nothing else I did was helping him to sleep for more than an hour at a time. So many tears were shed over his difficulty with sleep. Mine, not just his. I sat down one day, and thought to myself, "Ok, enough of what the world wants me to do, enough of what everyone else's babies do. If it was just me, no media to tell me how babies should be raised, no other parents to share what they did, no two month olds who are sleeping through the night, just me, alone on an island having to care for my son, what would I do?" "Exactly what I'm doing." I would continue to cater to his needs. Because they were his needs. He wasn't just demanding that we do things his way, or trying to prove who was boss, he was asking for help. He needed me to nurse him to sleep. He needed me to hold him while he slept. He needed me to be there helping him go back to sleep no matter how often he woke. And he needed me to be patient while he developed the ability to do this sleep thing on his own.
I remember the first night that I left him alone in our room. He had eventually gotten to where I could put him down once asleep, and after a while I realized I should try leaving the room. I turned our baby monitor up loud and rushed up to him the second I heard him moving around about his one hour wake up. But, we did it and it was ok!
He was about ten or eleven months old.
I remember the first night he slept for two hours! Amazing!  Maybe he would keep going and start sleeping longer and longer! No such luck, but it was a breakthrough.
He was at least thirteen months old.
I remember his first night hitting three hours.
He was fifteen months old.
He's made it to four hours, but I'm sure I could count on my fingers how many times he's done that. Two months ago, he actually slept for five hours, 45 minutes, and I expect we will see that again, but who knows when.
This is my son. This is who he is. He's beautiful, and smart, and funny, and happy, but he doesn't sleep well.
I've been through many periods of discouragement, days of sleep deprivation, and times doubting my judgment, but despite his tendency to do one step forward and two steps back, despite the fact that he nurses half the night on a semi-regular basis, despite the VERY BAD PATCHES he goes through every three-four months - that I can't decipher, no matter how hard I try - I continue to co-sleep and night nurse. Because - I love my son, and I know this is what is best for him, and what works for our family.

Along the way, I've learned a few things:

1. Listen to your instincts. They are almost always right.
2. Newborn babies should not be separated from their mamas.
3. Your baby's needs won't be the same as their baby's needs.
4. It's ok to use a swing to help him fall asleep if that's the only thing that will calm his reflux that night. It's a tool.
5. Only you and your husband are qualified to decide what is best for your family.
6. Cry-it-out doesn't just feel bad, it is bad. Cons of controlled crying
7. You will get a lot of unsolicited advice. Ignore all of it. It is almost never any good.
8. Family beds are nice!
9. Having a baby that does not do something well does not reflect the quality of your mothering.
10. Sweet good-morning smiles cover a multitude of night wakings.

Please remember that just like putting a baby in a crib, there are safety guidelines for bed sharing. Family bed safety
*I do not currently recommend anyone using a heating pad on or near their baby. There are far too many dangers in such use.

Stress Ball - Being One, not Having One

Do you ever go through times where everything going on is stressful? I feel like our life is stress glued together by stress. Boy has been looking for a new position for months now, and nothing is working out. He keeps interviewing at churches, having them tell him they really like him, he's their best candidate, etc, but - they can't hire him, because they don't have peace about it. How many lines of work can use that as a valid reason for not hiring someone, eh? (insert half sarcastic laugh) Well, the rest of you non-ministry families, thank your lucky patooties, cause it's an incredibly frustrating place to be. In a way it's easier, since it doesn't reflect on personality or a lack of skills on his part, so it doesn't hit his self-esteem in the same way, but on the other side, it can also be harder, since there is nothing he can work on or improve in order to have a better chance at the next one.
This last "no" that came through was our last chance to have a job lined up for when his current one ends at the end of November. So, now we are facing the reality that he will unemployed, and we have no idea for how long, since there is nothing else on the horizon.
We are continuing to try for a baby, but it seems like poor timing right now with this situation. We have no idea when a new job will work out, when we will have to move, and I can't even begin to think about trying to find a care provider in the middle of a pregnancy. That freaks me out the most. Midwives here fill up quickly and if you don't call right away, there is a good chance you won't get in. Having a hospital birth might not be horrible if I could find a doctor who would work with me and all that I want for my next birth, but such people are difficult to find anywhere, and almost completely impossible in a health system that gives little or no room to choose your own doctor. Heck, it's hard enough to find a doctor - period, let's not even contemplate finding one who is natural minded.
Have I mentioned that we're potty training? Although, can you call it training when you aren't actually making any progress? At this point, it's more like poorly working ECing. We don't go through a day without at least one pair of wet pants in the laundry, and more likely two or three. Bug is gaining the control - he can hold it for quite a while when he tries, but he doesn't yet have the self-control to get to the toilet. If Mama and Daddy remember to get him there on a regular basis, we do ok, but that becomes useless when it gets to the pooing. Sometimes, I look at him and realize what is going on, but lately he's started refusing to let me take him to the bathroom, so he just poos in his underwear (or, you know, where ever he happens to be standing pants-less. Which was on my desk chair earlier. I'm typing away on Boy's computer and notice a smell. At first, I think, "Bad fart." Then I begin to realize it's not going away. Turn around, and there is my beloved Bug standing on my chair, straddling a puddle and poo while futzing around on my computer. Awesome. He's, like, completely oblivious to the fact that he just pooed. On my chair. Did I say that part yet?)  I know he's just not ready to full on train yet, and we've talked about going back to diapers, but I haven't been able to bring myself to do it. I wonder how long it will take him to finally learn if we keep up with what we're doing. I wonder if there is anything else I can do to help him get there faster.
Anyone want to trade lives for a little while?