Tiny

I haven't written in a long time, mostly because I knew I needed to write about this, but it still feels too difficult. It's hard to know what to say - do I write about events, facts, the practical side? or about the emotions and feelings? It's a major part of my life, especially as I'm getting to the point where I have to think about the future and make decisions, but mostly it's background noise, a subtle buzz, and really, I want it to stay there. I don't want to bring it to the front and tune it in so I can hear it clearly. I lived there, I've done that, I want to not feel the sadness anymore. So, I suppose this will start as more factual, to keep the emotions at bay, but eventually it will deteriorate to the personal side - maybe sooner rather than later, as I can feel the tears pressing on my eyes already.
Shortly after I last posted with all the hope my heart could drum up, I lost my baby. I didn't know it yet, wouldn't for two more weeks, but she was gone already. It took two ultrasounds for my heart to catch up to my brain, and seven weeks for my body to catch up to my baby. The bruise still hasn't caught up to my life, which is so far beyond the loss, that it's old news replaced by old news.
The waiting in between was the worst, knowing that she was gone, but not gone; feeling pregnant without being pregnant; ready to move on, but not able to; wondering when, when, when? Some people didn't understand why I didn't just end it with a d&c, some were concerned that I was endangering myself, few understood that I just couldn't do that to my baby. She was still my baby after all, tiny and lost to me, she was still mine, and it was my job to protect her for as long as I could, even if all I could do was protect the little body she left behind.
(And, that doesn't even get into the risks for myself with a d&c. Why must people be so eager to jump on the medicine bandwagon? This is natural and right - leave it alone! I'm not stupid, I know the signs of danger; let me take care of myself!)
When she was finally birthed (what else do you call it? I still can't find a good word for bringing a lost tiny into the world), we could see a tiny, little, bright, white spot in one of the brilliant red clumps. It was her hand, reaching out as if to say, "I'm here, Mama. Come get me."
We got to see her, her tiny inch long body. Fingers the size of candy sprinkles, ears smaller than a freckle, tiny feet to match her hands, and eyes bluer than the sky.  We don't really know if she is a girl, but to us it just seemed fitting. We named her Sayuri, "tiny lily." We took pictures to remember her by, and placed her on a piece of velveteen, in a small box we had.  Tonight we will bury her, underneath a potted bush that used to be in the yard where I grew up, a bush that blooms beautiful pink flowers every summer, a bush that will now be a reminder of my precious "Tiny" Sayuri.

"Consider how the lilies grow. They do not labor or spin. Yet I tell you, not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these."  Luke 12:27

Fear and Hope

Almost nine weeks now. Thinking about that, I can't help but smile, but it's a rough road. You might nod sympathetically and comment, "Yes, I see how it would be a bit scary to be pregnant again after a miscarriage," but you don't get it. Really, you haven't a clue. Unless you've walked this path, you probably haven't begun to comprehend what it's like to be here. So let me give you a tiny glimpse - You wake up. Begin to be aware of your world again. Your first thought, accompanied by a stab of fear, "Do I still feel sick this morning...? Oh, yes, there it is." Breathe.
Get out of bed. There's a stab of pain in your side. Fear. "What is that? Is it a good pain? Bad pain? Ok, ok, I'm pretty sure that's ligament pain. That's ok. That's supposed to happen." Breathe.
You head to the bathroom. "Ok, ok, it's going to be ok." Wipe. Check. "No spotting. No spotting. Thank you, Jesus." Breathe.
Eat. The nausea abates while you reassure yourself that it will come back in a little bit.
Intersperse this all with minor heart attacks anytime anything changes, and I mean anything- the nausea, the need to pee, the desire to sleep, the pain in your back/side/arm, "wait, wait, the arm pain's not connected. That one's ok. Breathe," your appetite, mood, bowel movements, no new pimple today, your nursing toddler's sleep habits, mood, desire to nurse... anything.
Repeat entire cycle approximately 10-12 times, until you finally fall asleep at night praying that tomorrow will be as good as today.
You can't possibly know what it's like to be overcome with dread every time you have to pee (which is once an hour), unless you've been there. To be constantly weighing the way you feel, judging your aches and pains. To be truly thankful for nausea.  To feel yourself give up and try to accept that you're going to lose this one too - for whatever random reason your mind has currently settled on. To breathe fear in and out.
And, you are so alone. Because, nobody understands this. My family knows I'm afraid. They know it's hard for me, but they don't get this. This day to day, moment to moment torture. So, they don't call but once in a while and they probably don't think about it all that often. But, I don't blame them. Their babies were all born, crying, into their arms, and I thank God, that they have never had to walk this path.
The only one who can begin to understand is my Boy, because he's been there, holding my hand and going through it all with me. Sharing the losses and the fear.  I'm so grateful for his voice and his arms.
As time goes on, the frequency and intensity of the cycle abates, but never ceases. Each milestone you pass helps your spirit calm a tiny bit more. As the nausea grows stronger and my pants grow smaller, I grow slightly more confident that Tiny is going to make it.

Writing for the Sake of Writing

So I promised myself I would write today. It's been two weeks which is a week longer than my goal for writing, but I just feel so tired tonight. Not just tired, a bit weary, you know what I mean? When it goes beyond your body to your soul. But, I will try to put something down, just to make sure I persevere on this blog. It's important to me that I don't give up on this. It's good to have some kind of creative outlet in your life, and while I used to have many - sketching, dancing, singing, occasional writing, it slowly dropped to um... nothing. All these things that I enjoyed so much, eventually became replaced with the more practical - a job, keeping a house, raising a Bug, and the more sedentary - spending almost all of my free time in front of the tv with my Boy. Don't get me wrong, I wouldn't give up the life I have for anything, and I love my chillax time with hubby, but sometimes I wonder where I lost my drive and passion for the creative things in my life. I am bound and determined not to give up on them entirely. I'm grateful for my son who daily demands that I put on a "dince" (dance, meaning song). I used to listen to music constantly. I was always singing, or dancing, along to something, but I'd gotten to the point where I basically never put on music. I don't know why, but I just didn't. Thankfully, Bug isn't too discriminate about needing his music to be children's, so he bops along to some of my old favorites. It's nice to hear them again.
I used to draw, not frequently, but every once in a while when something would really catch my attention, I'd sketch it out. I really enjoyed it. I liked that it was something I was half decent at. I haven't done it in ages, but every now and then I look at my son and think how beautiful he is, and I itch to put it on paper. I'm grateful I have many photos of him, because one of these days, I'm going to sit down and capture him in my own hand. Another promise I've made to myself.
I think most teens go through a poetry or song writing stage. Sometimes it's really the only decent way to express the feelings you go through. It certainly helped me through a lot of times when I felt overwhelmed with emotions, as a teenager and beyond. I'm not sure I ever wrote anything that you could make money off of, but I always thought my works were pretty decent. This is one area that I'm not sure if I will ever really get back to. Occasionally, I go through some phrases in my mind and try to put something together, but it doesn't seem to work out the way it used to. Perhaps I'm not angst-y enough anymore.
That's where the blog comes in. There are times when I just have emotions I need to get out. A need to express in more than just a conversation. A challenge to make my thoughts more linear and perhaps to even provoke emotion in someone else. So, I will not, will not give up writing. I need to keep posting, even if my posts are somewhat inane and pointless. I need to keep posting just so this door is always open. I need to keep posting to prevent another burnt out outlet.
So, I post! Yay me!



You'd have no idea that I meant to write about something entirely different tonight, would you? Just got carried away on a train of thought...

I've Got Sunshine On A Cloudy Day

This past week... I'm not even really sure what to say. It's been very up and down and frustrating and exciting and, ugh... 
Inigo Montoya: Let me 'splain.
[pause]
Inigo Montoya: : No, there is too much. Let me sum up.
(Who doesn't love "Princess Bride?")

Since last week I've had a cold/sinus infection. It has finally been getting better, but I'm still dealing with an ache in my teeth and cheekbones that sets in for an hour or so around the middle of the day. Bug also had this cold at the beginning of the week, but thanks to breastmilk! he got over it much faster than I did.
Woman, Uncensored, followed by Dr. Momma hosted my post The Superior Choice on their amazing blogs. So incredibly exciting that they would think it worth sharing with their vast readerships. It's lead to a huge amount of positive support, moms who said I encouraged them, moms who thanked me for saying what they were thinking, and moms who judged me for judging other moms. (First - that's not what the post is about. Second - So... you're superior to me because you don't think you're superior to other moms? Third - Really, people? Do you read what you write? Perhaps I'm harsh, and maybe a bit of a snob [my sister did nickname me Snob when we were teens], but some of these comments just made me laugh out loud. "we're all superior... nobody is superior..." What? That... it... wh.... I can't even form a reply. Oh -NOT possible.) And, of course,  it lead to over 100 hits on my blog - woot woot! - and, count 'em, 12(!) followers. (Not one of which is me. I'm confused over why some people do that.) Thank you, everybody! It's so awesome to see you here!
We've been waiting and waiting to find out if my Boy (hubby)  has made it to the next step in the application process for a job we really, really want. This week, all we found out is that will be waiting at least a few more weeks. Urrr! Another rant in and of itself. So, so discouraging. 
Today it was confirmed that my cousin, who told me that she didn't want kids, is ten weeks pregnant. Thankfully, she is happy about it, and I'm sure when I'm in a better place I'll be happy for her. But right now, so soon after my loss, it just brings pain and feelings of unfairness.
With all the stuff that's been going on lately, including Boy's need to put in a lot of extra time at work, we've really felt like we need some time away. The IL's bought a "cottage" (read: seasonal house), and we planned to make a weekend getaway to it sometime in the next few weeks. (Hooray!) FIL let's us know today that there is no water hooked up, and won't likely be until May when the risk of freezing pipes passes. (sigh.)
My emotions are somewhat all over the place (or should I say hormones?), in part I'm sure from the miscarriage, and likely I'm getting close to ovulating again as well. So, I spent a chunk of the morning crying and wondering why something can't go right for me. (sigh, again)
But right now - this moment - my Boy has come home from work, my Bug has woken full of sunshine and kisses, and I have time to take a shower. What more does a woman need?

I Had a Baby

"I had a baby, and now I don't have it anymore. I feel sad."
A fairly simplistic quote from a tv show, but a fairly accurate summation of my life right now. In some ways it's hard to imagine that this is the truth. How could it possibly be? Two weeks ago, I didn't even know I was pregnant. A week and a half ago, I was celebrating the new life within me with my family. Just over half a week ago, I miscarried. Again. It was all so fast. So unexpected from beginning to end. It almost feel like it never happened. I was never pregnant at all. Life goes on the same as it was before I found out. My husband goes to work each day. My son demands his mama's attention and love. And I move on, taking care of the things that need to be done. There were no cards given, no flowers sent, no outside sign to acknowledge the living and passing of this oh so tiny life.
But, they were here. Oh yes, they were. I have only to remember the excitement and happiness I felt when it had truly sunk in. I was thrilled to be pregnant again. I was calculating and making plans. Figuring out decisions that would have to be made in the future months. Watching what I ate and considering how it would affect the growing life. Talking about names and guessing gender. For one week. One week. That was all I was given. And then they were gone.
How did this happen to me again? I don't get it. How did God decide that I was one who was able to handle this? Someone who is so empathetic that she never intentionally watches a sad movie and constantly finds herself crying over tv shows. Someone who becomes so hard and fast attached to things that she'll turn the house upside to find a missing alphabet magnet. Does that sound like the ideal candidate for multiple miscarriages? Not that there is one, I suppose, but, why me?
I don't know. I don't get it, but it is me, and who knows how many more times it will be me. And perhaps next time it will be a little bit easier, and the time after that will be easier still. Because this time was easier than the last. I don't entirely know why, but maybe because they were with us for a shorter time? Or because we knew how easily it could happen? Or simply because we'd been here before and the terrain was familiar? I know that it was at least in part because of my precious Bug, having a child of mine to hold and hug, and not being simply left with empty arms. I am so grateful for him. He reminds me that just as it's likely that I will have more miscarriages, it's likely that I will have more children to hug and cuddle, too.
And so, somehow my heart was protected from the gut wrenching, world ending, spirit crushing grief that it endured last time, and is working now to heal from the simple sadness and loss, and occasional door slamming anger that has left new scars on my soul.
"I had a baby, and now I don't have it anymore. I feel sad."

The Superior Choice

When I wrote this post, there was so much that was "clear" to me - black and white even. While I still feel strongly about most of these topics, I have gained a lot of grace and compassion for mothers who end up on the other side. I've learned far more about the myriad of reasons why some might make different decisions and seen some of the walls that they are faced with - sometimes even forcing them towards choices they do not want. While I would still make all the same choices again - I feel that they are my better choices, and I've learned that sometimes they are not your better choices. I've been tempted to delete this post entirely, but it's a tiny piece of me, of where I've been. Suffice to say, if I were to write this post today, it would have a very different tone to it.  - A slightly older Ness

Today I came across a comment about attachment parenting mothers having an attitude of superiority. This is not the first time I've heard this. It seems to be a common label given to those of us who practice this style of parenting. My response - Yep.
It's not that we think we're better than you, but that the methods we've chosen are better than the alternatives. That's why we chose them.  Isn't that they way it's supposed to work? You research and compile and listen, and then you decide to do what sounds and feels like the best - superior - thing for your baby. So, yes, we think what we do is better than what you do. Don't you think the same way? What mother says, "Yeah, this is definitely the poorer choice for my kid, but I'm going to do it anyway?"
Honestly there are times when we simply can't understand why you choose some things, like cry it out or formula feeding. It just seems so clearly to be the lesser or more harmful choice. It boggles my mind why some parents make the decisions they do, even when they are presented with evidence contrary to what they believe. It's like watching someone standing in front of a bin marked "Garbage" on one side, and "Recycling" on the other and then proceed to throw their glass bottle into the garbage. Huh? I'm so confused. How did you decide that was the better or right choice?
I know that making the decision to attachment parent is a bit more challenging than moving your arm to the other slot on the bin, but often it's easier to do than not. Bringing your baby into bed with you instead of listening to them cry for hours? Easier. Whipping out a boob instead of getting up to prepare formula? Easier. Throwing your baby in a carrier instead of lugging around a car seat? Easier. Keeping your tiny newborn close to you instead of letting them be strapped to a board while the doctor cuts off his skin? Easier. Follow that with - "wipe like a finger" instead of "protect with antibiotic ointment and watch for infection"? Easier. Letting your child wean themselves when the time is right instead of denying them the mother milk they want so much? Easier. (okay, I know that some people will face quite a bit of flack and criticism on this one that can make it very hard to continue.)
I do know that there are exceptions to the rule - the baby that demands his own space to sleep, the mother who needs medication that keeps her from breastfeeding, but the good reasons to chose else-wise are the exceptions, not the norm.
 I could go on and on about why the choices I make are the better choices, but that really would go on and on... and on. So suffice it to say, "Yes, I think my choices are better. Why else would I choose them?"

Sucker-punch of Grief

Woke up feeling somewhat energetic. Somehow, within a few hours,  that changed to murky, crabby, irritable depression. Trying to shed my funk when the first one hit. Remember this? That poor little cat you lost, all alone in a strange neighbourhood in the cold of winter? You're not good at protecting little lives given to you, are you? POW! Left shaking and vulnerable, completely unsuspecting the second hit. Remember this? The time when your husband was happy and confident, had the smile of an expecting father, throughly unprepared for his own sucker-punch. POW! And I was undone. The grief swarmed and surrounded. Relentless pummels rained. Howls of pain and screams of rage emanated from a place I didn't know still existed. Almost three years have passed, but today it feels like I never left that moment. The grief is so strong I can't conquer it, and I lie beaten and bruised.
Little one, I'll never forget you. Every March and November, I'll remember the one missing from my arms. Every time I see the first crocuses of spring, I'll remember the joy you brought me for a few shorts weeks. And every now and then, I'll remember you, JJ, my baby who never had a chance to be, through the sucker-punch of grief.

Rivalry

I hate this feeling. My sister and I have always had this inherent sense of competition between us. I don't know what causes it, why it's so much more present with the two of us than with all our other siblings, but there it is. And I hate it. I hate that I feel left behind sometimes when she's doing something new, or that I often feel like I need to show how I "one up" her on whatever story she's telling, or that I feel this need to do things first. Part of it is definitely personality. She's bold and outgoing. Not afraid to go for what she wants, or to demand what she feels she deserves. I, on the other hand, am more laid back and content in the background. I get nervous asking for small favours. But, I'm still the oldest, so she should have to wait for me, right? I should be able to get to things before she does. Marriage, babies, house, even little things - like writing a blog. This morning I wake to my sister's post, "trying this blogging thing." Urr! "Wait! I got there first! I already started one! I'm ahead of you! Really people, like last week, I started my own blog. Her idea isn't unique, it's just copying the rest of us!"
Everything in me wants to scream those words, to prove that I wasn't left behind again, that I'm right there, just a little bit ahead of her. I know, how childish. How immature and unwomanly. I'm fully aware of the stupidity of this, and how bad it makes me look, but I can't seem to shake it. I don't want to feel this way about her. I don't want to always feel in competition. I hate competition! It makes me antsy, and somehow feel less worthy. And, it puts such strain on our relationship. I love my sister. I wish we could just totally accept each other and where we are in life. I seem to be able to do that with all my other siblings, why not her?
Of course, the irony is that this blog was never meant for her to know about. Her, or any of the people who could look and judge who was "winning." So, I can't tell her about it. I can't prove that I got there first. I just have to accept that she has a "public" blog, and move on. A small exercise in moving past this juvenile competition that defines our lives.

Reality - now it will come down to who continues to write in their blog. Will I still be posting when life and a new baby have overwhelmed her time? Will she keep updating about the growing of her family while I have grown bored with taking the time to write? Who will be the blog writing winner?  
(frustration, frustration, frustration. Why can't I just let go?)

I Choose to Be Tired

Sometimes I think I should update my Facebook status. I sit there and think, "Vanessa is... what? What am I right now? Tired. I'm tired." Probably about 80% of the time that is what goes through me head. So, I post nothing. I can't keep posting that I'm tired over and over again. Why not? Besides that it makes me look like I not only have a boring life and must be boring also - since I have nothing better to say, it indirectly reflects on my parenting. I can just hear people thinking, "Why is she so tired all the time? Is that baby not sleeping through the night yet? Man, she needs to train him how to sleep, and stop giving in to his wants all night."
Well, you know what? No, he's not sleeping through the night, not even more than three hours at a time, and yes, I'm quite aware of how old he is, but I will take this happy well adjusted baby over a good nights sleep anytime. Today, we left him in the care of people we had never left him with before (yes, of course he knew them), for longer than we had ever left him, for only the fifth time we have ever left him at all. He kissed us goodbye, waved at the window, and proceeded to have a grand old time, not missing us one bit, until he rushed smiling to hug us when we came home. That's what co-sleeping and night nursing have helped do for my child. He's independent, safe, and secure in his world. He knows he can trust his parents to provide a safe environment and constant security for him. He has no need to freak out when we leave him.
I had one very caring mother tell me that it was so important to put babies in their own room, or they would have such a hard time learning to be independent. To that I say, "Have you seen my son?"