The Courage behind “Congratulations”

Sometimes even good things hurt.

My husband always reminds me “perception is reality.”  This is something I’ve thought about a lot.  It helps me remember the world doesn’t revolve around me. And it encourages me to not assume I understand how other people feel, or why they do and say the things they do.  But it also helps me find peace in my anxiety, as I over-analyze and try to apply my own experiences to someone else’s.  In the end, our experiences are our own, only our own- even when shared.  They are perceived through our own lens- our own perspective.  And they become our truth. 

I don’t know if you’re aware- but we’re in standing in the middle of a very large, very pregnant, “Baby Wave”. 

A “Baby Wave” is what many people call a period of time when it seems like everyone and their mother, (forgive me…I couldn’t resist) is pregnant and/or having babies.  It’s remarkable really. And it’s beautiful.  This phenomenon (I believe it’s phenomenal anyway) has the potential to create an instant bond between women, as they symptom-swap and exchange battle stories of past pregnancies.  Then one by one, they give birth to their beautiful little ones, and the cycle resets.  Then all is calm, until the next wave.

“Don’t drink the water!” is a joke commonly heard during these wave-times, exchanged between individuals who are not looking to join the preggo-club for a variety of reasons.  It’s a happy time full of wonder, swollen bellies, and hope. 

But there are some women- who aren’t making jokes.  Who quietly smile on the sidelines through the “Oh my gosh! When are you due?!” conversations.  The women who would give anything to drink the water, no matter how bitter the taste.

It’s uncomfortable to acknowledge that there can be pain even in the most beautiful times.  Especially when that pain is selfish, and that pain is our own.

So, in the interest of being transparent, here is my perception/reality: 

(hold on folks- it’s going to be a long, bumpy ride!  Go ahead and take your phone with you if you need to take a potty break. I won’t judge.)

I was naïve, 21 years old, and about to begin completing my three required internships to become an elementary school teacher. (spoiler alert: I never actually ended up teaching elementary school.) My husband and I didn’t have a real “plan”- but we’d been married two years and deeply desired to start a family.  Summer seemed ideal timing for a having a baby within my teaching schedule.  And so our journey began!

“Aunt Flo” was late that very first month- and I took a test. It was negative.  I cried.  A lot.

The next day I came home to flowers brightening our, tiny, dingy (seriously disgusting… but cheap) apartment; and my husband telling me he would love me no matter what.  My period still hadn’t arrived, and he convinced me to take another test. I did so grudgingly- and left it on the bathroom counter to process while I laid on the couch in despair.  (I wish I could say I became less dramatic with age, but it would taste like a lie.)

The next thing I knew- my husband was whooping and hollering for joy as he came bounding out of the bathroom to come shower me in kisses.  It was positive! We were having a baby!  For the next nine months, I felt like I was glowing.  I felt set-apart. I have never known as much joy as I did in then.  There were a lot of tears, but far more smiles, and I walked on clouds.  I was so proud- and so excited.

Pregnant with our first baby!

Four days past our due-date in June, we delivered our oldest- (a boy!) via Cesarean Section at 9lbs 3oz.  I hadn’t progressed, 0cm dilated 0% effaced- without a single “real” contraction.  He was “sunny side up” (meaning his face was out toward the front of my belly instead of back toward my spine) and his head was lodged in my pelvis making progression unattainable. 

I didn’t handle the C-section well.  I was still only first-learning how to cope with the anxiety/depression cocktail that is my mental health, and had an anxiety attack on the operating table.  Technically, the surgery still went flawlessly, but emotionally, it sent me spiraling into a depressive state.  Because of my sensitivities, I struggled with the juxtaposition of pain and numbness that followed, and to hold my baby.  At times everything was dark, and I felt angry.  I was so tired.  I was in so much pain. And I just wanted it to end. 

Eventually I began to heal, and feel like my old self- but I was terrified to experience that feeling again. 

The pain faded, and my desire for a baby outweighed my fears.  When I was 23 (working as a Middle School Science teacher) my husband and I found ourselves planning for another baby!  We were aiming for May to maximize the amount of time I would be able to spend with the baby.  That first month I found myself in familiar circumstances.  My period was late, the test was negative.  I tried not to worry, because this had happened before, but the next day instead of flowers and a dance for joy like my first pregnancy- I broke into a new box of feminine products.  I wasn’t pregnant.

I braced myself for the storm.  There were tears- but I tried to put my circumstances into perspective. I realized it wasn’t realistic to expect a positive pregnancy test right away.  It was amazing that it happened the first time with my oldest, but I needed to practice patience. I knew better than to assume things would always go 100% according to plan. That particular lesson however was short-lived, as the following month found us reading two pink lines and expecting another June baby! 

Pregnant with baby number two!

My second pregnancy was a little more difficult than the first. I felt cautious.  I was happy- but I was also scared.  Over the last two years I had many friends who experienced miscarriages, birth defects, or other complications.  I felt convinced something was going to go wrong.  As the due-date came closer, I began to feel a little more calm, but still anxious about what was going to happen.  I walked and walked and walked, and two days before his official “due date”- I delivered our second little boy, 7lbs 4 oz, with a flawless VBAC delivery.  (Vaginal birth after cesarean.) 

It seemed my fears were unconfirmed, and I allowed myself to cling tightly to this new little life.

Two years later- I was feeling empowered after my positive VBAC experience. I had been feeling strongly about having another baby, and secretly hoping for a “surprise” pregnancy ever since my youngest self-weaned at 8 months.  I was just SO sure we had another little one ready to join our family, and I couldn’t wait to meet them.  So at the comfortable age of 25, my husband and I decided to aim for an April baby.  We joked that was how we would get another summer baby to compliment my teaching schedule. (Since it took 1 month with our first baby, 2 months with our second baby- it would probably take 3 months with our third baby, and we’d get all three of them in June!)

We played it cool, but after the third month irrational worry started to creep in.  I kept my fears to myself, because I knew with my anxiety I wasn’t being logical.  But as time passed- I started to internally panic, and it became harder to keep to myself.  I asked a few close friends and family members to pray for us, but still no baby.  I felt guilty for mourning each month.  I felt I didn't have a real right to complain after having it "easy" with my first two.  After 6 months we decided to take a break.  My niece had be diagnosed with Morquio (MPS IV-A), and my husband was going to have some genetic testing done before we continued trying to conceive.  We couldn't afford IVF, so I was terrified a positive result would mean postponing having another baby indefinitely.  Thankfully- his tests came back clear- so we resumed our baby-trying.  Everything always seemed to work out just right for us. Except, no baby.  I couldn't wrap my head around it.

I went to the doctor who ran some standard blood work, but assured me I was young, and because we had two successful pregnancies before “the plumbing worked”.  I offered an uncomfortable courtesy-laugh at his joke, but I didn’t feel like it was very funny.  He told me I shouldn’t be concerned.  It had been a year since we started “trying” for baby #3, but because we had taken a short break- I didn’t qualify for additional fertility tests, and he was confident I didn’t need them.  In fact, I was told that pursuing unnecessary tests could actually hurt my chances of conceiving so it was best to just keep trying and waiting.  “Next time I see you, you’ll be pregnant!” he told me.  I smiled hesitantly in my paper gown and waited for the room to clear so I could get dressed.

I was 26 by now.

And then I was 27.

I was struggling.

I watched the baby waves ebb and flow.  I told myself to relax.

Everyone told me to relax.

• “You have two beautiful boys, be grateful for them.”
• “It will happen as soon as you stop trying.”
• “You haven’t been trying that long- just be patient.”
• “It will happen when you least expect it.”
• “I had real infertility, you’re not infertile.”
• “You’re so young, don’t rush it.”
• “It took us X amount of time to get pregnant, everyone is different.”
• “Two is a good number.”
• “So many people have it much harder, they never have a baby at all.”
• “Are you really trying? If you haven’t done XY&Z for ___ amount of time you’re not infertile, you’re just not trying hard enough.”

Truth blurred with doubt and I was miserable.  I began to spiral.  I hated my job.  I pushed my husband away.  I felt like an awful and unworthy mother, like I was neglecting the blessings I had been given by wishing for something more.  There was nothing physically wrong, so it had to all be in my head- which meant it was all my fault.  I became angry with myself, frustrated at the cycle of worry I had both created & become trapped in.  I tried to remind myself that my children needed me.  I told myself I was being selfish.  I pushed myself to wake-up, get dressed, and do the things I was supposed to do.  I all-but invested in stock for home pregnancy tests, as month after month I peed on those stupid plastic sticks.  I'd forgive them quickly though, always convinced I was just testing too early, or that next month would be different.

I went to the baby showers.  I sat on the theoretical shore as a supportive, smiling face, for the passing baby waves- but I quietly hid the feeds of my pregnant Facebook friends.  Especially the ones who “Oh my gosh- we weren’t even trying!” 

It wasn’t their fault.  After all- I’d been there.  Both our previous babies were meticulously planned, but they had come so easily.  It can be surprising (and even scary!) when you get the news.  Surprising, scary, & exciting!  They wanted to share- and that was their right.

But here’s what I realized. 

Here’s where I remember that “perception is reality.”

That same beautiful moment, from a single pregnancy announcement, has been shared, copied, and even tainted.  While the emotion of happiness surrounding that experience is genuine & overwhelming, the ripples through perception are not uniform.  My lens of unfulfilled dreams took my ripple of joy and welcoming for this new life, and laced it with pain.  The news was full of light, but also shadows of bitterness. 

These moments aren’t fair.  But they are real.  They are individual, and they are all valid.

In the beginning of 2016, I decided to quit my teaching job, and work from home as a LuLaRoe consultant.  I wanted something flexible & low-key so I could focus on myself, and my little family.  I joined a gym- and began making time for the things I enjoyed.   I was making peace.  At the time I was preoccupied with the life-changes I was making, and to my surprise- just as everyone suggested of course- I finally got pregnant! A year and a half since our journey’s start to baby #3, but only one month after deciding to take this crazy leap of faith, we were finally expecting! 

My third pregnancy.  My three year old was the photographer- hence the cropped head.

“Expecting” is such an appropriate word for pregnancy.  Hopes and dreams are immediately whirled into action as quickly as those two pink lines appeared on the home pregnancy test.  I had expectations, and these particular expectations had been under construction for a long time.

Unfortunately, the foundation wasn’t quite set.  Our baby girl was diagnosed with Trisomy 18 (also known as Edwards Syndrome) and after 17 long, heart-wrenching weeks of pregnancy filled with tests, fear, and unanswered questions, we lost the heartbeat.  I delivered her tiny unfinished body on my oldest son’s 5^th birthday.

They say when you can talk about something without crying, you’ve healed. 

I’m not quite there yet, but it's happening slowly.  I’d like to write a post someday about everything that miscarriage has taught me, but not today.

That Fall, after a couple of familiar disappointing months, we experienced a “chemical pregnancy”.  The pregnancy test was positive on a Monday, and I began bleeding on Saturday.  I had two  LuLaRoe “pop-up” boutiques that day.  In the morning I prayed it was some kind of harmless spotting.  I pushed through the party, unwilling to believe that I could really be miscarrying again.  But the bleeding didn't stop. I took a pregnancy test on my lunch break, and it was negative, so I knew the pregnancy had not been viable long.  I smiled, and laughed and complimented ladies as they tried on clothes that made them feel beautiful while I was falling apart from the inside out. 

Every loss is significant, but to me, it just felt like one long, painful blur.  This would have been another summer baby.

It’s been almost 3 years since we first started trying for baby number 3.  Many of the ladies I surfed the “baby waves” with during my first two pregnancies have since had another little one.  Many of them had the sweetest most beautiful little girls. It's so strange to feel so happy for someone else while still feeling so sad for yourself.  Sometimes I worry my sadness is blemishing their happiness, but I'd like to think it has the opposite effect.  Seeing those little ones reminds me of hope- and that good things happen.  It stings to watch with empty arms- but my heart still feels full. I scoop up my own little ones and hold them a little tighter.

This week I went to Walmart with my youngest to search for some coordinating clothing for my men-folk because we had family pictures coming up.  I decided to do some light grocery shopping while I was there, and I was in the bread aisle when the modern marvels of technology delivered the news that another one of my friends was pregnant by surprise, one of the friends who had two children the same ages as mine, but also already had a gorgeous little girl since. I kept my composure & continued shopping for about ten minutes before breaking down in front of the Oreos.

The right thing is to say “Congratulations!” when something good happens to someone else. 

But what do you say when your heart aches, and the words feel hollow?  What do you do when their something good is your nothing?

You sob in the middle of Walmart like a crazy person while an old man awkwardly tries to get to the Nilla Wafers behind you.  You take a deep breath and let yourself feel everything for just that moment.  You wipe your tears and realize that there’s an appropriate time and an inappropriate time to share your heart.  You remember the times when good things have happened to you too.  You remember life isn’t fair, and that’s ok.  You choose to make room for happiness right beside the sadness in your heart.  There’s room for both.  You acknowledge that this is their moment, and you will have your own turn in your own way to interpret those ripples and process your own residual experience.  Even if it isn’t when, or how you thought it would or “should” be.

You take courage, and find strength in the face of grief.

You say “Congratulations!”

My sweet boys playing at Grandma's house this weekend. 

Mom Confessions- "I will NEVER"

^That picture was taken before I had kids. (See how cool I was?)  Before I had any clue about what my body, mind, emotions, and very soul was about to go through as I made the transition from girl to mother.

With the new year starting, my Facebook and Pinterest feeds have flooded with New Year's Resolutions.  As we stand on the edge of fresh beginnings and new horizons we find ourselves intoxicated with the sense of possibilities and a surge of good intentions.

Right about now you're probably starting to realize that running 30 minutes every morning before work may not be 100% realistic... and you're convincing yourself that your "no more soda EVER" resolution was really more of a guideline than an actual rule.

Coming down off the high of New Year's resolutions is expected.  (Besides- we have all year long to get back "on-track" right?) We've spent the last month reminescing, gorging, and justifying in the anticipation of this "fresh start".  It makes sense that we would set some unrealistic expectations.

But as women- we tend to be pros as setting unrealistic expectations. (...uhhh does the word "PINTEREST" mean anything to anyone?)  I am GUILTY!  For many of us- we spend a good part of our lives anticipating some of the sweetest milestones life has to offer; mainly marriage and motherhood.  If you think about how much we can build ourselves up before making our New Year's resolutions each year- it may give you a better idea how so many of us find ourselves looking up from a pit of unrealistic expectations when we finally reach those momentous events.  And the worst part: We dug ourselves into that pit ourselves.

I was no exception.  Along with the typical list of wants, hopes, dreams, and expectations for my life as a parent- I also had a pretty extensive lists of "I will NEVER"'s.  As an oldest child, teacher, and experienced babysitter- I felt like I had seen my fair share of "non-examples" and I was pretty sure there were some things that, when I became a mother myself, I would NEVER do.

But then I had a baby.

And then I had another one.

And then I realized...

1.) "I will never co-sleep with my baby."

Oh dear. I can already feel the evil glares pointed my way across the internet.
If you Google "co-sleeping dangers" (DON'T) you would be with me on putting this on my list of "NEVER"'s.  However...  you'd be surprised what measures you would take after only a few brief hours of cat-napping on the floor beneath your child's swing before they woke up and realized once again that no one is holding them and this is unacceptable.

I've come to accept that co-sleeping is an incredibly PERSONAL decision.  I've discovered that it can be an amazing aide in making sure my baby and I both get enough sleep to function, and it encourages breast-feeding when I might otherwise be inclined to cozy-up under the blankets while Daddy fixed a bottle.  It eases my mind when I can simply look over and see that my child is well and breathing rather than causing me to dash across the house and check in the crib when my "something is wrong!" mother-instincts kick in.

While co-sleeping is a personal decision, it needs to be an informed one.  There are a lot of things to consider.  For instance- you should NEVER co-sleep if you are drunk or under medication that would not allow you to wake-up easily.  You should refrain from extra-soft bedding such as large fluffy/heavy feather comforters, or multiple coverings/pillows.  (Less is more when co-sleeping)
You should be aware of bed placement and make sure the bed isn't pushed against a wall where the baby could slip down and get stuck.  You also need to consider your personal sleeping style.  If you (or your partner) tend to be a heavy sleeper or thrash around a lot, you may want to consider an option other than co-sleeping.

Co-sleepers are also a great option.  I made sure to research SAFE co-sleeping and for me- it was a surprisingly amazing option.  Albeit something I thought I would never do.

{Image Credit: Here}

2.) "I will never keep my baby in the carseat."

After horror-stories of dented heads and obese children with minimal emotional attachment I vowed I would never be one of "those moms" that kept her baby in the carseat carrier.  I used to look at mothers who toted their children to church in their carseats and think "How can they do that to their baby? He/she is getting so little stimulation! The poor little thing is trapped in its seat! How hard would it be for the mom or dad to just hold their baby instead of leaving them in the seat on the pew beside them?"

Apparently it would be pretty darn hard actually.  We were pretty great about holding rather than "toting" our oldest son.  The carseat generally stayed in the car unless he was sleeping or if it was a quick trip into the grocery story. But with the addition of a second child- my husband and I found ourselves significantly more stretched.  Balancing a toddler AND a baby means both you and your spouse almost constantly have your hands/laps/arms full.  Not to mention those families that have more than two children... single parents... or parents of multiples!  I seriously do not know how they do it.

Something I hadn't considered was the fact that those times when I see those moms and their carseated-babies, is only a TINY fraction of the time those mothers and spending with their babies.  30 minutes in a carseat once a week is really not going to cause emotional trauma to your child.  I had no idea how much time they spend cuddling, crawling, and exploring with their baby at home.

In addition- while my first son was relatively mellow and content to roll around on the floor or cuddle in my arms, my second son is nothing short of a restless explorer.  He is constantly pulling on things, sticking things in his mouth... you know the typical baby stuff.  At home we can baby-proof, shut doors, etc... outside of our house is a different story.  Sometimes I just don't have the energy to chase after my mobile minion and the carseat provides an incredible relief as a safe-alternative to running myself ragged.

So I've pretty much stuck with the new mindset of if he's happy- let him be. This doesn't mean I wait until he's screaming before I take him out, in fact I still think I'm pretty good about keeping him liberated from his carseat... but I'm not as high-and-mighty about it.

And I certainly don't judge other moms so quickly when they have a contained little-one in tow.

{Image Credit: Here}

3.) "I will never give my child something just because he cries for it."

Yeah... this isn't one I'm proud of.

It's really important to me that I don't raise whiny entitled children... but it's also really important that I don't have a nervous breakdown because my eardrums just shattered into a million tiny pieces.

We encourage using our words to explain what we want and how we feel instead of crying (whining) when we want something.   And I give myself a big pat on the back for having a toddler that usually does pretty darn good at it too.  But as anyone who has ever had a toddler knows- sometimes logic is the joke of the day.

Choose your battles mama.

If I'm sick, if I'm tired, or if I'm just having a really lazy day- sometimes I do myself a favor and spare the house from the 30-minute compromise of "You need to tell me what you want so I can help you" and I resort to the guessing game. (Note: this can often back-fire and turn into a HUGE mess so always proceed with caution.)

"Do you want juice?"
NO! (Angry)

"Do you want cheese?"
No! (Frustrated but happy you are recognizing their unhappiness)

"Do you want bread?"
Noooooo.... (Still crying but open to negotiation)

"Do you want toasted bread?"
Yes. (Still sniffling)

"Ok here is some bread- lets toast it"
NOOOO!!!! (freak-out mode activated)

"Do you want this? Do you just want the bread?"
Yes. (Sniffling but relieved.)

"Ok here you go."
Thank you mommy.  (Smile- note crocodile tears still streaming down face.)

Once the bread is gone and he starts whimpering again- you better bet I go straight for the bread bag and hand him another slice.  Sometimes... it's in everyone's best interest.

{Image Credit: Here}

4.) "I will never feed my child unhealthy food."

Cue laughter.

oh dear....  I really have nothing to say in my defense.  Graham crackers will be my undoing.

And those darn cookies.

{Image Credit: Here}

5.) "I will never ignore my child when they are crying."

No decent mother wants her child to cry.  We just don't.  It hurts our hearts. When my baby cries it's like every bone in my body starts screaming for me to DO SOMETHING!  That's why if someone were to have told me 5 years ago that I would occasionally ignore my child when they were crying I would have voted for them to be sent to the looney-bin.

But if I'm being honest... there come some moments in every mother's life where she needs five seconds.  And if you aren't a mother you may not realize how literally I mean that.

FIVE. SECONDS.

Time to yourself- without responsibility- is now a fantasy.  It's like when people say you have a piece of your heart living outside your body.  It's true.  I don't know if I'll ever be 100% worry free EVER again.  Even when my sons are grown with children of their own I'm sure I'll still wake up sometimes in the night and wonder where they are. (Maybe not... but it's seriously hard to imagine right now.)

This post has taken me almost a month to write- and I still won't get a chance to proof-read it because THAT is how precious time is when you've got little ones.

I remember a time after I had my first son when I was feeling particularly overwhelmed.  I felt like he was constantly crying, never sleeping, and always needing me.  I found myself becoming emotionally dramatic- crying, feeling so tired and angry.  That anger was like a red flag.  I certainly wasn't angry at my baby ( I wasn't angry *at* anything really) but I knew I needed to calm down.

A woman who came to bring a dinner (...yes I was having dinners delivered to me and still managed to get super overwhelmed- it happens.) saw how I was feeling and gave me some of the best mother advice I ever received.

Sometimes babies just cry.

This isn't exactly true... we all know that babies cry for a reason.  Either their hungry, tired, cold, uncomfortable, poopy, etc...

But what she continued to explain was that after you've exhausted all the options you can think of- once you've rocked, swaddled, fed, changed, rocked swaddled, burped, checked their toes twice for hairs, and fed, rocked, and swaddled again... sometimes you just need to set them down safe in their crib, shut the door, and take five seconds.

literally five seconds.

Enough time for some deep breaths.  Some visualizing.  A reset.

It's something I never thought I'd do.  It's something I never thought I'd need.


But mamas are human too.

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And that's ok.
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Thankful Thursdays: These Are a Few of My Favorite Things...

The other day my little girls were dancing around the house singing at the top of their lungs "These are a few of my favorite things," from The Sound of Music. We laughed and sang together as we skipped through the house as if WE were the Von Trapp family.  It was one of those many let-it-all-out goofy moments for me as a mom.  I’d like to say that I wasn’t goofy like this before having kids, but nope, not much has changed for me. If anything, my goofiness is now exponentially greater after having kids. BBH and I may no longer belt out our 311 or Cake songs together…but we are definitely known to belt a Disney tune or two now. Moments like these make my life not just happy, but joyful.

"Happiness is rising bubbles-delightful & inevitably fleeting.

 Joy is oxygen-ever present." -Danielle LaPort

Sometimes while my kids are asleep and I sit down to decompress, I think about the moments that make up my whole day and what made this day so special and miraculous. I think about the things that truly make me thankful to be a mom and have defined me as a woman. And these are a few of my favorite things:

I’m thankful for hope & faith.

After spending several years trying to overcome infertility, I had many moments of sadness and despair. With every failed attempt or procedure to get pregnant, I would feel a weight that made my heart very heavy. But hope and faith buoyed my spirit up and became the antithesis to my burdens. Consistency of faith and hope cleared my mind of doubt and helped me take another step forward, even when I wasn't sure if I could. Now my hope and faith help me on a my daily journey through motherhood as I do everything I can to raise my girls to be the best they can be.

I’m thankful for prayer.

In my faith, we believe that we are sons and daughters of a loving, eternal Heavenly Father. We can pray to him and build a relationship with him through consistent prayer. I'm thankful that I can pray to Him to express my gratitude for all that I have and to ask for help with my shortcomings. I can pray to Him to help me be a better mother, wife, sister, friend...a better me. 

I’m thankful for my mistakes and for second chances.

Motherhood has taught me that I’m not perfect and that I must grow everyday. It teaches me that I will always make mistakes and that’s ok, as long as I learn from them and become better. It humbles me and shows me my weaknesses. For every weakness I see in myself, I realize that I can make it a strength if I only recommit myself to be better. I'm thankful for second chances that allow me to be the mother and woman I strive to be.

"There is no one perfect way to be a good mother. Each situation is unique. Each mother has different challenges, different skills and abilities, and certainly different children. The choice is different and unique for each mother and each family...What matters is that a mother loves her children deeply and, in keeping with the devotion she has for God and her husband, prioritizes them above all else.

--Elder Russell M. Ballard, "Daughters of God," General Conference April 2008

I’m thankful for love and vulnerability.

From a very early age, I've always wanted to be a mom. But I never fully understood what that meant. What does it mean "to be" a mom? There are so many words that can define a mother. For me, being a mom just cannot simply be defined by words alone, but by most importantly, verbs. The best verb to describe motherhood is pure, unconditional love. It's a love that is vulnerable. I am so thankful that I have the opportunity to love my girls and husband as much as I can, everyday. I'm grateful I have them to teach me how to love. 

I’m thankful for the messes.

Sometimes I feel like cleaning my house is a continuous Groundhog Day ritual. The same messes re-surface and I’m on my hands and knees a lot every day, picking up my toddlers' crumbs and spills. I read an article one day that made me think differently about the those seemingly monotonous and messy moments. It made me realize that being a mom is so much more than cleaning or the day-to-day grind. It's about loving, unconditionally and sincerely. I'm thankful for the messes, because I have children to clean after and to teach them how to help me and others. I'm thankful for the messes because they teach me how to serve. 

Photo credit: newhealthom.com

I'm thankful for the minutes.

The first time I held mini-me and my-girl after they were born, I made a promise to myself that I would enjoy the minutes, because each minute makes up the moments and eventually those moments make up special memories. Time is fleeting and I wanted to make sure I soaked in as much of them as possible and to never have any regrets as to where I invested my time. I promised I'd never take the opportunity to finally be a mom for granted and to love as much as I could in the time that I had. It's in the short minutes that memories are made, love and tenderness is expressed and kindness is shared. 

"We cannot do great things on this earth, only small things with great love." -Mother Teresa

Fear of Age Three

A year from now, my little guy will have the opportunity to start school. Yes. My LITTLE BABY! I am suddenly filled with anxiety just thinking about his care and livelihood being placed at the mercy of another person’s hands. He’s just Jesse. He needs me. I understand him. Ever since we were first aware of Jesse’s challenges as a baby, he was enrolled in a government funded program for babies with developmental delays and other setbacks called Early Steps.

Early Steps services children with early intervention therapies such as physical therapy, occupational therapy, speech therapy, and early intervention (EI). In addition to these therapies, you may seek other therapies outside of Early Steps. Jesse receives the majority of his therapies through Independent Living. They’ve been amazing! Babies qualify for these services until the age of 3. At the age of 2 and 6 months, the process of transition starts. With your consent, your child referred to the Local Education Agency (LEA). Again, this is all optional! I’ll visit all of the local LEA preschool sites and other community education programs for babies with special needs. I’ll have the opportunity to observe, learn what a typical day would be like, and grill everything with a heart beat! Believe me! I’ll have a thousand questions for each and every person in these places!  Like “ Are you aware that I love my baby to death? Are you aware that I if you ever hurt him or cause him any pain in ANY way (emotional or physical), I KNOW WHERE YOU LIVE?! Really. To Death. ”

 

With that being said, here are some of my common fears:

1.        He doesn’t talk. No one will understand him.

Jesse doesn’t talk. He doesn’t use words. He knows a few signs that we’ve worked so hard to learn in the past 2 years. He signs “more,” “up,” and “all done.” If you count “peek-a-boo” as a sign, then he’s got that one mastered too. Apart from those, he’s got another extensive vocabulary of facial expressions and body language. Some are very unusual. Like when he’s pulling around on his belly, pauses and stiffens his little his left leg and it shakes a little, I know he’s excited about something. Perhaps he’s spotted a long lost toy under the couch, that only a little guy like him could spot from his world down below. I know when he’s on the verge of hunger. I know when he’s concerned or afraid. He keep his eyes fixed on my eyes, reading me, to see if I am also afraid or concerned. If I turn my head, concealing my face, he leans over and adjusts to see my expression. He relies on me to understand the world around him.

 

Solution: The most important thing to do, if this is the case your child, is to bring the necessary tools to make communication easier between him and the teacher. Your child’s teacher should be a trained professional, ready to start an individual plan for your child, but providing her with information about signs he may use or pictures that will facilitate his way of communicating, is always a great idea.I have implemented pictures into our communication. Before I feed him, I show him a picture of his food. I repeat the word “eat” as I prepare the food. I keep signing “eat” to him and encouraging him to do the same. I’ve been doing this since he first started to eat solids. He hasn’t signed it yet, but he understands SO MUCH MORE, than he can reciprocate and communicate back to you. When he’s ready for school, I’m hoping that he will have mastered his picture book and some more signs. I need to accept that his teacher will be a trained professional. I just need to provide him or her with the tools necessary to make communication easier. She will follow the individualized plan set for him daily. I intend to create a positive relationship with his teacher. I’ll ask her when is the best time and way to contact her and discuss his progress. I’ll volunteer as often as possible and become an involved mommy. In the process, I hope this will help me to alleviate some of my fears and anxiety.

 

2.        If he has a tantrum, no one will understand how to calm him down. They will lose their patience and treat him badly.

I feel irreplaceable in my Jesse’s life as I’m sure most of you do as well. Although Jesse is generally a crazy happy baby, he will occasionally be in these unexplainable moods. I have to go through a mental list of “what could be wrong with him.”

 

Solution: I will talk with the teacher about some special signs of distress that Jesse exhibits occasionally. I can help her to understand how to react and what expressions to try to avoid when he’s feeling vulnerable. I can show her toys that calm him down. I can show her how to make him feel comfortable. He likes to be held certain ways that make him feel safe and loved. I will communicate all of these things to the teacher. I might even make a “easy reference” document.

 

3.       He coughs and chokes on his food almost daily. I fear neglect.

 

I am afraid that people will under/overreact to his struggles with feeding. He doesn’t always chew his food before swallowing it. He doesn’t know how to control food properly in his mouth. He needs thickened liquids. If it’s too thick, he struggles, if it’s too thin he aspirates, which could later lead to lung infections. While eating, if he starts to gag, he can often work through it. I wait a few seconds, think about what he’s eating, see if he can figure it out, and decide whether to swipe it out or give him more time to try to chew it. I’m faced with this decision several times a day. If I ever have company over, I can see the fear come over them as they notice Jesse struggling. I often have to assure them that he’s okay. I just have to be very cautious and know when to intervene.

Solution: Communicate these concerns in detail with his teacher and other therapists present. Help them to understand that it can be very scary for him to have someone force their hand into his mouth. He often will be very emotional and hurt for up to half an hour of the experience. I just need to communicate all of the steps they can take and avoid to make his feeding experience better.

 

4.       He can’t communicate well enough to express if he’s being bullied or abused at school.

I am afraid that because of his inability to respond well to instruction, someone will lose it and hurt him.  I know that these are trained professionals, but you hear bad stories.

Solution:  Advice I’ve found helpful Pictures are very useful to address this issue. Talk to the teacher about your concerns. Request a written calendar of activities so you know what he’s supposed to be doing each day, and how to ask him simple questions about his day that he may respond to with a simple yes or no. For example, did you eat pizza today? Was it good? Pay special attention to his behavior and, if it comes up, never force your child to attend school without understanding why he doesn’t want to go.Pictures are very useful to address this issue. Talk to the teacher about your concerns. Request a written calendar of activities so you know what he’s supposed to be doing each day, and how to ask him simple questions about his day that he may respond to with a simple yes or no. For example, did you eat pizza today? Was it good? Pay special attention to his behavior and, if it comes up, never force your child to attend school without understanding why he doesn’t want to go.

Pictures are very useful to address this issue. Talk to the teacher about your concerns. Request a written calendar of activities so you know what he’s supposed to be doing each day, and how to ask him simple questions about his day that he may respond to with a simple yes or no. For example, did you eat pizza today? Was it good? Pay special attention to his behavior and, if it comes up, never force your child to attend school without understanding why he doesn’t want to go.1. Communicate my concerns with teacher.

22. Request a calendar of his daily activities so that I can know what he’s supposed to be doing throughout the day. I can then ask him simple questions about his activities that he can respond yes or no to. (We’re far away from being able to do this, but it’s my goal.)

3. Example: “Did you eat bananas today? Bananas? Good?”

3. 3. I will pay close attention to how he reacts. I will observe his expression when I ask about school and playtime. If I ever feel that he for some serious reason is afraid to keep attending school or seems unusually anxious, I will investigate myself. Great advise I found online was to “never force your child to go to school without first understanding why he or she doesn’t want to go.”

GreatGG

3. 5. Bus? He’s too young! It’s not safe!

At some point, I will have the option of allowing him to ride the school bus. I fear that it’s not safe for him. He’s too young for a school bus.

Solution: Special needs school buses are updated and made especially for children with an inability to sit up straight or control their bodies. Depending on Jesse’s height, weight, and physical and mental challenges, he will be seated in a booster seat or car seat or seated regularly using a seatbelt.  Drivers are taught to give each child the time he or she needs to get into the bus. I would imagine that they’d need to be very patient! So I will have my eye on the bus driver!  

5.       He needs to take his medications daily.

I am afraid someone will neglect to give him his medications.

Solution: If this fear continues to linger, I will make a list of medications and ask the nurse to initial each daily medication as it is administered. She may also use a calendar as a visual reminder of his medications. It will help me to feel more at ease and have a less stressful and worrisome day.

 

Overall, I just need to be open with his teacher. I need to communicate all of my concerns. I am happy to know that I have options, like what location to choose and what teachers and professionals I feel more comfortable with. It’s reassuring to know that I can let him attend his school for a little time or as much time as I feel happy with! I can take him for an hour or let him stay all day! I am pleased to know that he will interact with other kids and learn from his experiences. He will learn to deal with people. He will receive all of his normal therapies throughout the day. He will grow and I will too. That is what life is about. Growing… and knowing where his teacher lives.

Sloths don't only live in trees

So when I thought about overcoming adversity it ended up taking me to kind of a dark place, since I've really never done anything but succumb to it. I hope it's not too much of a downer. It just kinda came flowing out once I started.

-Nikki

I do not consider myself a particularly hardworking person, nor have I ever been one. As a child school came fairly easily to me so I came to believe that it would always be easy. Once it ceased to be uniformly easy for me I began to simply despise the subjects that I had trouble with, rather than doubling my efforts to conquer them. I did the bare minimum in everything and did perfectly well enough. This pattern continued throughout my academic career and though I graduated with a perfectly respectable GPA, I failed to sufficiently prepare myself for college and ended up delaying it. Once I finally got myself there I fiddled around, changed my mind and major, transferred back home to community college, and dragged the process of earning and AA out over four years, doing just the minimum required of me all along. During this time I worked in retail, although with a bit of effort and application I could have done better, despite my lack of a completed education. Yet I couldn't see fit to do more than the bare minimum. Now don't get me wrong, I worked hard at the jobs I had, but I didn't do more than was truly necessary.

The only times I've ever felt like I've truly worked, done satisfying, productive work, has been during my time in the theatre. I spent every extracurricular moment from age 14 onward either performing in a show, working tech for a show, or assisting with drama camp. During a show I will stay long after rehearsal is through, work tirelessly at home to build props or costumes, and I will sing myself hoarse until all my songs are as perfect as I can manage. Then I'll beg for more. The sloth disappears in the theatre.

That's my claim to fame, my one redeeming list of accomplishments to rescue me from being labeled “lazy” or “useless”. And I hate that that is true about me, but it is.

Now in adulthood I have yet to ever begin an actual career and I am now a stay at home mom, which, yes, is a most worthwhile thing to do, no argument here, but I cannot help still feeling useless. Those who know me know that my seven month old son has spent the bulk of his life dealing with a serious health issue, and so, therefore, have my husband and I. At 6 weeks old my son started having seizures, and after months of tests, and countless drugs tried, they persisted. He was finally diagnosed with epilepsy, and just a month ago he underwent major brain surgery to stop his seizures. Long story short, we've had a rough half year, and much of it has been spent seeking solace with my friends and family near and far while we sat with our hands tied and our hearts breaking. Far too much of that solace came in the form of compliments about my personal strength and fortitude for coping with our situation, as if it was my choice and I was choosing to be strong and was suddenly a record-breakingly awesome mother. My loving friends have stated countless times how I'm a super mom for getting through this and they marvel at my strength.

I hate it. I hate this praise. I am not strong. Enduring this ordeal doesn't prove that I'm a great mother or a particularly pragmatic or resourceful one. I've been along for the ride. I've simply handed my sick kid over to doctors and pleaded “Fix Him!”. I haven't done anything worthy of praise, nor have I done anything above and beyond the call of duty. I've done what is required of me. My list of requirements is just a bit different than some other moms, so, by comparison, it may seem somehow more impressive. It's not, though. I'm only surviving, striving each day to know what to do and do it. I'm no different than any other mother who loves her child.

I suppose you could argue that I could, somehow, have “run away” from the problem, but I'd be a monster, so I'll give myself that much credit: No I did not abandon my child. But there is nothing extraordinary about what I've done for him. This is particularly galling to me because I had such great plans for my boy and being a parent. I had planned to give him every opportunity to learn from and early age, and to expose him to all manner of activities so he can find what he loves most and prepare himself to do it for the rest of his life. I wanted him to have more than me, to have everything. Then he got sick, and fell behind developmentally and suddenly all my dreams of rearing a brilliant child who would excel at anything he chose to attempt, were wiped away.

It had been my desire to work hard with and for him, to do more than I'd done in most other areas of my life. I wanted to work for him because I loved him, as I was always able to work for the theatre, because I loved it, but once he got sick I was doing all I could just to keep my head above the water. So again, I was doing the bare minimum.

****************************************

Luckily we are now out of the woods with my baby's illness, and normal life can truly begin. My great plans for parenthood may now commence. I have high hopes that I will, in time, be able to achieve all my goals for my child's education, that I won't let him down with my innate laziness. I also hope that I can attain my own career goals and feel like a complete and fulfilled person who is contributing to society, not merely a dependent and a burden.

This is an exciting time in my life, and I hope that the useful me can indeed conquer the lazy me and stand victorious atop a tower of achievements at the end of my life so that my children can emulate me, rather than use me a an example of choices to avoid.

My Painful Purpose

There was a time when I wished that I just didn’t care. I wished that I could put on a façade and smile my inner emotional instincts away. I wished that I could be decisively stoic and effortlessly composed. I wished so hard that I could look the other way and move on with my life. I wished I could be mean. I wished that I could manipulate my way in and out of situations,--with confidence and ease. I wished so hard. I hated how weak I was. I hated how affected I could be. I hated being an open-book. I hated that I so easily invested in people and ideas.

Even after years of living in a place with the power to shred a girl’s heart and hope to pieces, my stupid weak heart found a way to put itself in another dangerous situation. To be let down. To be ignored. To be forgotten. To be blindsided and left in a state of sheer pain. I wanted so badly to kick the lingering sting of hurt in the face and give it the cold shoulder. I wished to pound hard against my chest as strong as humanly possible to harden my heart. I didn’t understand why. Why wasn’t my heart hardening? I needed not to care… or I’d die of a broken heart and a trampled spirit. I felt utterly powerless in the face of adversity.

We belong to a world that pushes and pulls us in every way imaginable. We find ourselves in desperate situations with many questions: Why did I lose my baby? Why did my marriage fail? Why did I have to lose my job? Why was I raped? Why do I have this disability? Why wasn’t my baby born normal and healthy? Why did I have to get sick? Why should I have to feel this pain? Why me? This is so unfair.

Many of us, when faced with a negative life changing experience like this, find a little seed of darkness and bitterness growing in our hearts. A seed that threatens the very core of our souls. We shut off the world. We avoid social situations. We try to dispose of the memories and the ache as swiftly possible, to limit the suffering and collateral damage. Our objective is to preserve our hearts. We build an ever-growing fort around our core, to keep all the bad out.

A very special someone gave a short book that has helped me to see suffering in a different light. It is called Mee Speaks, by Mary Ellen Edmunds. It contains empowering short talks that could leave the sturdiest and thickest fort walls trembling. In her talk, Finding Purpose in Our Pain, Mary Ellen challenges us:

“I want you to think of an experience that was extremely difficult for you—one of the hardest you’ve ever had to face (Maybe you’re ogin through it right now.)

Now I want to ask you a question about your adversity, your suffering: What have you learned from your experiences? Have you learned compassion? Is your heart more tender? Do you judge others less quickly and harshly?”

Even as I quote her words to you, I am filled with a heavenly warmth and comfort. My tears run freely. Not because of sorrow, but because after years of trying to harden my heart to the world, I’ve found a sense of purpose amidst my pain. I am suddenly reminded of every soul crushing circumstance I’ve endured, every humiliating betrayal, and every bitter loss. And instead of hating myself for not “learning” from my mistakes or not “remembering” my pain and forgiving too easily, I’ve found new strength in my weakness. A purpose in my pain. I’ve now come to appreciate my “weakness.”

If we build a fort around our hearts every time the world deals a foul blow, we’re also incarcerating the experience and the potential to learn from it. The potential to love more sensitively. To have compassion for a hopeless mother. A rape victim. A jobless father. An orphaned child. A mother that so badly wants to conceive, but is left hopeless every month. A drug addict who feels worthless to the world. A child that feels abandoned, and wonders why his parents gave him away. A grandmother who feels embarrassed that she can no longer take care of herself. A cancer victim who fears she won’t be around to see her children grow up.

Everywhere we look, there is pain. BUT everywhere we look again, there is hope. We all have the power to turn our pain into purpose. Spencer W. Kimball warns that if we shut out sorrow and anguish from our lives “we might be evicting our greatest friends and benefactors.  Suffering can make saints of people as they learn patience, long-suffering, and self-mastery.” Through our suffering, we can become sweeter. We can be filled with more compassion for our friends, husbands, children, and family.

The way I see it, understanding someone’s predicament can be done in two ways. You either understand them with your mind or you understand them with your heart. Understanding someone with one’s heart, isn’t easy. When I’ve attempted to reach out to someone I could truly relate to because of my own past and tender experience, all of the scary and negative feelings swarmed in. It was uncomfortable. I’ve come to understand that active compassion isn’t attainable without being willing to revisit those raw feelings that once turned your world upside down and inside out. BUT this suffering we feel in the process is so special and different. As Mary Ellen describes it, “it is the most exquisite and painful.”

How exactly can we find purpose in our pain? How can we actively use the suffering we’ve undergone for a greater purpose? Here are some simple things you can do.

Love just one person.

You can’t solve all of the problems of the world, but we can “love on” one person. We can write one short and friendly note to someone who feels hopeless. We can visit one lonely person. We can make a call to someone in need of a rant. We can send a friendly text or a kind email. Just one person.

            Avoid saying things that aren’t really helpful.

Sometimes we tend to try to quickly talk each other out of our suffering. We assure one another “I know exactly how you feel.” With some honesty, patience, and genuine kindness, we might be more effective. Instead of “I know exactly how you feel” we can say “I’m not sure I really understand what you’re going through, but I am so sorry. What can I do to lighten your load?” If all you can offer is company and a listening ear, settle for that.

            Don’t push a quick cure.

Instead of a “Get well soon” card and a “There are better days ahead” reassurance, we should accept and recognize the true pain a friend might be enduring. Mary Ellen suggests comments like “May your deep water and fiery trials not be more than you can handle” or “I hope you’ll let me travel part of this journey with you.” Pain is a serious feeling, so we should treat it with the sensitivity it deserves.

            Avoid competing for a “worst” trial.

Sometimes, in an effort to relate to a friend, we find ourselves trying to top their suffering. Some funny ways as described by Mary Ellen:

“My kidney stone was a much nicer shape than yours!”

“My tonsils were a lot worse than that! Want to see the picture?”

“My root canal went clear through my collar bone!”

“I was in labor for forty days and forty nights!”

Here’s one I’ve encountered: “I had my baby without an epidural! Trust me, you had it easy!” Yikes! 

Learning from our pain isn’t easy. I think our instinct is to build our precious fort and keep our heart intact. If there’s at least one thing I’ve learned from my pain, is an appreciation for others. A sensitivity to their suffering. If we’ve been judged harshly before, then perhaps we may refrain from unfair judgment.

Amidst our suffering, we can find peace. We can find purpose. We can help heal an aching heart. We can make a friend.

Lessons from Lamb's Ears

 "€œWhy couldn'€™t I have been born with that infamous green thumb?"€ I wondered to myself. After all, it was certainly a family trait. Virtually everyone on my mother's side of the family was a gardening guru. I wondered why this knowledge had not been implanted in my brain at birth. While weeding in my garden, I had noticed that my lamb'€™s ears (which are my absolute favorite of all plants) were starting to brown and wither at the bottoms. I had marveled all summer at how much they had grown, now almost as tall as my azalea bushes. I had never seen lamb's ears grow that large, they were amazing! It surprised me to see that they seemed to be struggling as tall and glorious as they were.

I consulted a gardening friend who suggested to me that the plant might be getting too big for its root system to support. The only solution was to cut back the long stalks and remove some of the base plant. I am sure the look on my face expressed my feelings adequately. "I'€™m sorry, perhaps you
didn'€™t hear me. They are as tall as azaleas! They are amazing and beautiful, how could I ever cut them back?!" €œUm, okay. Gulp.
After delaying a bit I decided it was time to trim them back, knowing that it was the only way that I would save my lamb's ears, which were becoming increasingly brown and withered by the day. It was a sad sight, all those beautiful stalks laying in a pile on the ground, huge sections of lamb'€™s ear up-rooted and removed. What was once so beautiful now looked so pitiful. Ugh, what a mess. For a moment I contemplated reaching down and ripping up the whole plant, roots and all and just calling it quits. After all, the poor thing would probably die now anyway, might as well make it quick. I clenched my fists in frustration at the wreck that had once been my beautiful plant and then sighed. I turned and trudged into my house with a heavy heart and tears in my eyes. So much for Mother Nature knowing best! It seemed all that she did was pick and choose what could live and what would die and there was nothing that I, or anyone, could do about it. My interference certainly had done the plant no good; at least, that was how it appeared at the time.

My demolished flower bed seemed a perfect metaphor for the past year of my life. Like the lamb'€™s ears, I too had been cut and pulled and left alone. My lamb'€™s ears and I were now only shadows of our former selves. For about the eight hundredth time that year I wondered, "€œwhy"€?

As I sat on the floor in my bedroom, still donning my pair of gardening gloves, the memories of the past year came galloping back at me, uncontrolled, wild and in full stampede mode.

It had only been a few weeks before last Christmas when I had made that first trip to the hospital. I had already take notice of the fact that my five-month-pregnant belly was not as large as I would have expected, my appetite was no where to be found and I had not felt so much as a nudge from my little belly dweller. It wasn'€™t unheard of but for my fourth pregnancy, it was strange. When the bleeding started I knew, still I don'€™t think I'€™ll ever forget the fear I felt as the nurse struggled to
find my babies missing heart beat.

The ultrasound confirmed that our baby had died a few weeks earlier. I was sent to the hospital to deliver. I decided that I didn'€™t want to see the baby afterwards. I didn'€™t want to hold it. I didn'€™t want to know the gender. I didn'€™t want to know the weight or the time of---, time of what? Birth? Death? Delivery? It didn'€™t matter. I felt like knowing those things would only cause more pain.

 It was almost four in the morning when my theory was confirmed. The medication I had received after the delivery had helped me to sleep soundly and I awoke to an empty hospital room. Everyone had gone home. There was not a nurse in sight. Down the hall I could hear the sweet sounds of newborn babies crying out to their mothers. I desperately wanted to rip the IV from my arm and run full speed down the halls and out the doors, miles away from that room and from the pain. As I sat on the bed crying I noticed a small table covered with the flowers, cards and candy that my friends had left for me. Next to one of the vases was an unfamiliar yellow box, with a flower on the top. I wondered which of my friends had left that for me. I went over and opened it, only to find the unwanted answers to all my questions. I curled the tiny hospital bracelet around my fingers, trying to be angry at the nurse who had left that box, after I had made my wishes not to know anything about the baby clearly known. Instead of anger all I felt was overwhelming sadness.

As I left the hospital delivery room later that day I remember thinking, "€œthis just isn'€™t fair. I should leave with an empty belly or empty arms; I shouldn't have to leave with both."€ All that came home with me was my little yellow box with that tiny hospital bracelet and a little blue card, "€œBaby Boy Ramsey, delivered December 10th."

What followed was six long months of trying: trying to heal, trying to be normal, trying to get pregnant again and finally succeeding. The first seven weeks of my pregnancy were flawless, maybe a little too flawless. I felt absolutely perfect, normal, as if I weren't pregnant at all. Then the bleeding started again, the same way it had last time.

Again, I found myself on that drive to the hospital. I will never forget sitting at one particular stoplight. It was red, of course, another small delay on my seemingly endless drive, and truly the longest ten minutes I have ever spent. My stereo, as if feeling my surge of emotion, seemed to be speaking to me. All the sudden the lyrics of a favorite song, one I had heard a million times, were written for me, for this moment in my life: "€œI'€™m not okay. I'€™m not okay."€ How very appropriate I mused. I allowed a small and strained chuckle to escape at just how true those words were. I was most definitely not okay.
By the time I finally reached the doctor’s office I felt so dizzy I could hardly see. My entire mental energy was innately focused on keeping the room from spinning. I could hear the nurse but it sounded as if she was talking to me under water. "€œI'€™m so sorry dear, there is no heartbeat." No heartbeat. No heartbeat. Would I still have one when this was all over? Could I actually die from a broken heart?

 I tried not to look at my husband, though I would not have been able to see him through the tears even if I did. This could not be happening, not again. This had to be a dream. I hoped it was a dream.

 After all of this how could I possibly be back at this awful hospital, getting ready to go home with no baby? This time there would not even be a box; there would be nothing to have of my little precious baby except the emptiness I would feel without it. How much could my one little heart really take? How were we going to tell our other sweet children at home that the baby that they were so excited for was not coming after all? Why was this happening?

The two miscarriages were one day shy of seven months apart. For everyone around me, these two days would be entirely opposite in every way. For me, however, these days were marked with the same overwhelming sadness.

For weeks after the second loss I tried to focus on the good things. I had a wonderful husband and three beautiful, bright children. I had been assured, re-assured and overly assured that there was nothing wrong with me, that I was, by all accounts, normal and healthy. I had been given every pearl of wisdom ever collected and stored for these very circumstances: "€œYou are so blessed to have the children you have.", "€œYou are so young, there is plenty of time for you to have more babies."€, "€œThere is a time and season for everything."€, "€œMother nature knows best."€ These words, spoken with love and concern, and being quite true, still they did not console my aching heart. Truly what could they have said? Nothing short of, "€œoh I am so sorry, there has been a terrible mistake, your baby is just fine" was going to ease the sorrow.
Reminders stared me in the face from the cover of every magazine, every advertisement on the television, every novel and every film. Had there always been this many pregnant women roaming through the grocery store? I cringed at the image of times I had walked through the isles with my cart full of my fidgeting children, my pregnant belly a shining beacon in the eyes of some poor woman who had suffered a miscarriage, some aching heart that I wasn'€™t even aware of. The onslaught of emotions was overwhelming, not only sadness to cope with but also anger, frustration, envy and guilt.
I was angry for feeling so sad. How could the sadness of losing two babies that I never even met be so overwhelming that it clouded the happiness of raising the three healthy ones who were right there with me? At times, the emotions felt entirely overwhelming, like trying to swim with all of your
clothes on, seemingly impossible and yet somehow doable.

My mind was constantly engaged with questions that appeared to have no answers. What would happen now? Would I be able to get pregnant again and did I even want to? Would it just be followed by another devastating miscarriage? (For those who are curious, the answer was yes. We had a third miscarriage two months later.)  Now, sitting alone on my bedroom floor, tears streaming down my face I mourned my babies and my lamb's ears, two broken things that I could never put back together. I looked at my gloves, covered in dirt and thought of the baby that had been ripped away from me, the way I had just ripped away part of my lamb's ears. My stomach twisted and the back of my throat ached trying to contain the sobs from escaping my chest. I wondered if I would ever understand why these things happened.

It was not until a week or so later that I received an answer to that question. One day as I passed by my garden I started to notice the change in my lamb'€™s ears. They were gaining back their beautiful color; the leaves were reaching up and out, strong, vibrant and full. More startling still was what I found in the middle sections where whole parts of the plant had been removed. Little tiny buds were sprouting and reaching up for the sun. New life was forming in spite of what I had seen as insurmountable challenges. I had thought that removing part of the plant would mean the ultimate demise of its entire being. I was wrong. My lamb'€™s ear did not just decide it was not worth the effort and wither away. It did not turn away from the sun and stop absorbing water. It did what it was intended to do. It kept on growing, changing, becoming better. I had removed so much from it and yet, ultimately, it had to lose a part of itself in order to thrive and reach its full potential.

I too now felt prepared to overcome my personal tragedy. I found myself smiling again and recognizing things that I had learned. The loss I had suffered had given me new compassion and empathy for others, tender and soft like a new budding lamb'€™s ear. The tears I had shed helped build my  root system and reminded me of what I treasured most. When I finally let go of that painful part of my life, I was able to fill that space with something new and wonderful. In the end, my beautiful lamb'€™s ears grew even stronger than before, and so did I.