Does time make it easier?

Tonight I find I'm struggling with insomnia again. That seems to have happened a lot more this month, and I'm not sure why.

Today I was blessed in that my mother-in-law took Maddy for a good part of the day. I've been accustomed to having help with Maddy 2-3 times a week so I can work (thanks to a teenage family-friend we pay as a "mommy's helper!"). But this is the first day in a week and a half that I had a long break from Maddy during the day, and I think I really, really needed it.

But I do tend to be an overacheiver. So of course during that long break today, I completely cleaned my house and accomplished a lot for my business, instead of giving myself any kind of breather.

I tried to take some time this evening for myself, but even that wasn't really working. Maddy kept interrupting, dishes still needed (correction, need) to be done, and I was still trying to be "productive" by catching up on correspondence while watching my show. It was 9:00 at night, and I still felt like my to-do list was piled up against me.

All of that was enough to make me cranky, and not really enjoy my show, and just generally feel a bit resentful. Because I just wanted an hour to do what I wanted to do. Ad for some reason, I had a hard time communicating that need to my family, and I didn't make it happen.

About the time I should be going to bed, I see that I have a message. It's a heart-breaking message because it means that a sweet friend is now on the same journey as me. "Does it get better with time?" she asks.

With all my heart, I want to just scream, "Yes. Absolutely. Time will take care of it and make it so much easier!"

And maybe other people are able to give that answer, but I just can't say that unequivocally.

In some ways, yes, time has made it easier. In other ways, no, the passage of time has actually made it harder.


I wrote much more to this friend, but I think this just about sums up how I feel about time and grief . . .

"Grief is still there, but it has changed. It is my constant companion. But it's something I'm learning to try to live with like an old, worn-out friend whose company I must patiently endure, rather than as an evil foe whom I must swiftly conquer. . . .

 "I'm learning to navigate this journey better, maybe just because I am quite familiar now with the feelings. They aren't as scary as they once were. I'm learning to recognize them for what they are. And recognize what I need in that moment to get through it."

And for this moment, I think what I need to "get through it" is to stay up till 3, blog and cry a bit. I need to give myself time for ME, and just live with the fact that my house will not be perfect tomorrow for my 9 a.m. appointment. I need to remember those first hours and days after we found out we were losing our baby. I need to think of my friend, and her baby, and this journey she's embarking on against her will.

I need to think about how I'm going to spend August 4, Olivia's due date.

I need to come to the grips with the fact that my body had a freakish cycle this week that for whatever reason made me super upset. I need to come to come to grips with the fact I will not be pregnant by her due date. And that other people's due dates are also fast approaching. Soon I will have other people's babies in my life, and not just pregnancy photos. (I can't decide which will be easier.)

I need to process the story Maddy made up today about Olivia . . . how "Princess Olivia" was grown up like me, and she loves "sghetti" but has to eat all her "vegebales" first before she gets more "sghetti." How Olivia loves to swim at the pool. But then Maddy closes her made-up story of  "Princess Olivia" reminding me how she was just "inky dinky" in my belly. But she's not there anymore.

I have to say, I enjoyed listening to Maddy's description of what Olivia would be like if she were big. Sometimes make-believe is the best.

Sometimes make-believe feels like that's all I have left in growing my family.

10-year struggle with infertility, a loss and a hope-filled ending

Someone emailed me 2 weeks ago their story that they put to video. It's the story of a 10-year-long struggle with infertility, the loss of one baby, and a miracle ending for another.

For some reason, I just found the email tonight.

Tonight, I also heard of another baby who was taken too soon. :(

So perhaps, just perhaps, tonight was just the night I was supposed to post this video.

For those of you who have struggled with infertility, I think you will totally be able to relate. Same for those of us who have lost a pregnancy.

And a thank you to the woman who has opened up about her journey in hopes of encouraging someone who finds herself wondering "why?" "when?" and "how could it be?" I hope your baby's legacy will touch many lives.

Rachel

What a positive test won't tell you

I took a pregnancy test this week.

Negative.

I can't say I was surprised. But just in case it had been positive, I had given myself a pep talk before that epic first pee of the day.

"OK, even if it's positive, you have to understand, that doesn't mean you are having a baby. What that means is that a sperm met egg, and SOMETHING happened. Don't get any hopes up, because a positive test doesn't mean anything."

In spite of my pep talk, I still know inherently that more that a positive test does mean SOMETHING. But it doesn't mean what we all assume it means . . . that a healthy newborn baby will be in our arms in 9 short months.

I think before someone has a pregnancy loss (or maybe for someone who has not intimately known someone who's had a loss ), if they get a positive test it just means "HEY! I'm having a baby!" That positive test feels like a PROMISE.

That promise is what makes some women run out for an abortion because they didn't just pass some test -- it means there's a baby at the end of the deal, and for whatever reason, they aren't ready for that baby. For other women, it's a promise of a beautiful nursery, baby showers sparkling in pink or blue, and of course, a baby to lovingly sing to and rock to sleep.

For some women (like for me when I was pregnant with Maddy), that promise felt like a cruel joke and made me feel out of control. A baby was not in MY plans, at least not yet, and I very much rebelled emotionally from the little "alien" inside that caused me so much discomfort and completely usurped my plans. (I'm very happy and thankful for that "alien" now . . . it just took some time -- OK, all 9 months -- to accept this new plan.)

I think no matter how we FEEL about that promise, it still feels like a promise in the end.

Or maybe I should say, felt.

It doesn't feel like a promise of anything anymore. Except maybe that no matter the outcome, my heart is deeply involved, for better or for worse. And no matter if we end up with a baby or with heartache, my life will change.

Sometimes I do wish pregnancy tests would tell us more. Something like:

"So, you have a positive test. But . . . just so you know, in about 6 weeks, you are going to lose this little one. So you best be prepared, and don't get too attached."

OR

"Yay, it's positive! And you are actually going to keep this baby! Yep, everything's healthy as can be, the baby's in the right spot, and things are moving along swimmingly. So, get your life in order, because there will be a new addition to your family that you are actually going to keep!"

OR

"I hate to be the one to tell you this, but while you are pregnant, and you are going to go full-term, your baby will not be going home with you. Start reading greiving books. Find a support group of women that have been through this. And by all means, bond with this little one as best as you can, because your pregnancy will be the only memories you will be making with this child. "

But the truth is, ALL OF US who get pregnant get the same positive test. We all all believe (or at least desperately want to believe) that we will have a healthy little newborn that we can proudly hold, dote on, and dress up in the cutest Gymboree outfits we can afford.

I know for me, I felt like I was given the same promise as everyone else around me this past December. And so it's no surprise that I planned, I dreamed, and I acted as if I would have a newborn baby who should be arriving here in 3 weeks. And it's no surprise that since then I've felt empty and broken inside, like a part of my has been forever lost.

Because when I took that test, all it told me was that I was going to have a baby. And that positive test sure felt like a promise.

A day of rememberance.

Today, one of my readers is facing her due date, but not facing the arrival of a child. Her baby didn't make it this far. Thinking of her today and of her precious baby that was taken too soon. No matter how brief, that baby's life is important and their place in this life will never be taken by another. If you pray, please lift up a prayer for this momma. Rachel

Crossroads

Ryan and I have come to a crossroads about what we want to do with foster care: Continue with training (mass loads of training) to keep our license current. OR . . .  let our license go because we know that we aren't ready for a placement now.

I just don't feel peace either way.

I don't want to give it up because WHAT IF we try again, and have a failed pregnancy, and foster to adopt is the only way to extend our family? What about my strong desire to help hurting kids? What about all of the time, money and energy we've put into getting licensed in the first place?

But then, I'm TERRIFIED of another loss, and losing a foster child to another home would probably send me over the edge. Because I've increased my working hours, it will be harder to do even respite care. I suck at paperwork and organization. And I frankly don't know if this is even a good WAY to adopt and expand our family.

My mom suggested I do it when it's not with the intention of having more children . . . but just with the intention of helping other kids.

And that seems like a great idea . . . except that that is lightyears away.

I seriously don't know what to do. Try desperately to find babysitting for 36 hours in the next two weeks so I can attend training during the day -- when I would normally be working Arbonne? OR just let it go, and relicense when it's the right time (whenever that is).

Sometimes, I hate making decisions.

You left a hole that can't be filled

Olivia,

I'm totally missing you today. Nothing is really filling in the gap you left.

And I'm dreading the beginning of August with everything in me. :(

My sister asked why I wanted to be pregnant now so badly. She wondered if it was just because  I lost you. I never seemed so anxious to get pregnant before you.

The truth is, I've never been so happy as I was when I was pregnant with you. You were (and are) an unexpected joy to our family. I had given up hope of having more kids. You awakened that desire in me. It's a desire I don't understand. And no matter how hard I try, I can't seem to harness.

As much as I regret not having you . . . and of having this hole that won't go away . . . I'll never regret getting pregnant with you.

I hope you are having fun with Jesus, Grandma and Grandpa, and your friend Mya.

I wish I knew what you looked like so I could picture you playing in heaven.

Love,

Mommy

6 months and counting.

If you're my friend, and you're pregnant . . . please don't be offended. Or maybe, you might not want to read. I still love you. I'm still happy for you. But I'm still sad for me. That just about sums it up.

I should have known today would be hard.

For some reason, I forget that the 20th day of the month is a hard one for me. I forget that it symbolizes an anniversary  . . . that each 20th that comes around is one month further away from the life and death of our baby, and one step closer to the (dreaded) due date and 1-year anniversary.

Today marks 6 months since we lost Olivia. Half-way to a year.

Ughh.

How have 6 months gone by? How could her due date be just 6 weeks away?

I don't even know what to say. This weekend was really hard, and I had a bit of a breakdown. I don't think I've fully recovered. (But when, exactly is that supposed to happen, anyway?) Every time pregnancy/pregnancy loss/or whatever comes up, I'm doing everything I can to keep from crying.

It's been awhile since I've been so weepy, and I really don't know what to do with my feelings.

I finally wrote in her journal today ... something I don't do nearly as often as I thought I would.

 

Writing to her is cathartic though, and for some reason, I can open up to her about how I feel more than I can to anyone else. Maybe because she's perfect in heaven now and can't judge me. And I can't "mess" her up either, the way I could with Maddy if I told her everything I feel inside.

To be honest, many people close to me are pregnant, and it is very hard. Not that I'm not happy for them. But I just feel so left out. On purpose. Like it was God's joke to have 4 best friends and 1 sister pregnant while I SHOULD be pregnant, but I'm not. It feels like being the last one picked for the team. Except there's no room left on the team. They're all plowing ahead without me.

Other people's preganancies are becoming harder to ignore. And I must admit that several times this week I've seriously considered just packing our whole family up and moving away to a place where no one knows me. Where I can just get a fresh start.

But then I remind myself that I still wouldn't be pregnant. Ryan reminds me that all of my new friends would also likely become pregnant, and I'd be in the same predicament, except with a lot less support.

"Fine," I retort to him, "I'll just make friends with middle-aged women."

"Except," Ryan counters, "They'll have grandbabies, and you know how much women like to talk about their grandbabies.They'll be worse than the moms."

"Fine," I start again. "I'll be friends with teens."

"Except," Ryan oh-so-matter-of-factly reasons, "lots of teens are having babies these days."

"Fine," I continue, feeling more like I'm rapidly losing this argument, "I'll be friends with preschoolers."

Then, after a pause, I have to concede . . . "And if I'm friends with preschoolers, they'll always come over with their moms . . . . who will most likely be pregnant."

Sigh.

One day I'll figure this all out. Right?