Waiting to Exhale

Most of you know that there's a timeline running through my head. I've been advised to stop thinking about it...but as anyone who's lost a child knows (particularly, an infant child), that's impossible. Hannah was 29 days old when we had to make the decision to remove life support. That's a life-changing thing to go through...not only the loss of a child, but to pull that plug. It's hell, plain and simple.
JD is 29 days old, today.
I was watching the clock in the nursery, thinking to myself, "don't watch the clock." It's ridiculous--I wish I could turn my brain off. I sat in the bedroom last night, watching him, and realized that we're almost through the worst part...almost.
Everything we gain reminds us of a loss at this point...the things he does, reminds me of what she didn't do at this stage. It's a mind game that I would love to turn off, because it tends to rob me of the joy of my current situation. Ever have an issue like that? Where something from your past that has such strong ties, keeps you from celebrating the beauty of the present? It's not a Godly mentality, and I'm not so stupid that I don't recognize that.
I've always had really intense dreams, but lately, they're even more so. The other night, I dreamt that I was wrestling with both of my kids...my little boy, and my little girl. I didn't want to wake up;it was so beautiful. Reality hit: Until I get to Heaven, I will never have the chance to do that...to put both arms around both of them, to hug them and hold them together...A new wave of anger creeps in, and a new face of loss presents itself...something I never really thought about before.
Everything we gain reminds us of a loss.
I want to be mad at God again, if only for a brief moment...but then I stop and I think about the leaves , and about His careful design. Our steps are ordered by Him, even the steps that look like more of a fall. Sometimes I can look back and see the pattern in the tapestry He's woven...if not for Hannah, there would be _____. I could fill in the blanks with a 100 things that will never fill the gap of her loss.
Certain things in this process have surprised me. In the midst of celebrating JD, I'm faced with a new facet of grief that I've never had to deal with before, and I'm completely unprepared. A new line of "why" has come up, only this time, I'm in the place where I can mostly deal with not having answers.  There's a moment in which I have to force myself to exhale--to stop holding my breath, to let the tears flow, and to mourn the loss of Hannah not as my firstborn daughter, but as JD's big sister...I never really thought about it before, but it definitely hurts.
So we deal with it. I like lists, so here is what we have: We have the fear...the "let's make it through the first 30 days" fear. We have the loss...my family is missing a piece. We have the questions...God, what exactly were You thinking again, and when will I get over the fact that I don't get to have all of the answers? And we have the hope...This little guy is here, and he is loved more than he will ever know; he deserves our love without reservation, without comparison, and without compromise, and he will get it.
We have these things. And though we don't have the answers to the questions, or a quick-and-easy balm to make the hurtful things go away, we have Jesus. Even when I don't understand Him, when I go to Him with scraped knees from falling down, or a broken heart from letting my mind run away with me, He still accepts me. I'd give anything for an audible conversation with Him that's full of answers or promises for the future that were specific to our lives...I won't get that (barring a miracle). But in my list of questions and hurts, I have hope and faith, even when it's hard to access either one of them. This is a case where my heart knows what my head can't wrap around just yet. This is a process.
As of tomorrow, my son will have outlived his sister.  A certain measure of tension will be alleviated, and I am encouraged by the kind thoughts and prayers I've gotten from people who may not understand the situation, but that understand that this is tough. It's a bit of a milestone that I don't expect most people to get. Anyone who's lost a little one, and has had their "rainbow baby," though, understands. Tomorrow, I will turn off the internal clock, and I will let go of this 29 days of underlying tension. I will breathe. And I will celebrate a new phase in JDs life...At some point, I will be able to celebrate the milestones without thinking of what it might have been like, to celebrate them with Hannah, too. I don't know when that will happen, and I think other moms of "rainbows" will have some insight into whether or not that EVER happens. I have no idea. I know that I can look at him, and I can see only him...but I also know that I have thought more about Hannah over the past few months than I have in a long time (although not a day goes by where I don't think of her)...and that eventually, I'll sort through all of it. Again--it's a process.
One day at a time.
One breath at a time.
One milestone at a time.
One prayer at a time.
And slowly, but surely...
Breathe.

Calendar Girl...

I used to write a lot of prose...but for the last couple of years, I just haven't gone in that direction. Probably because I'd rather blog, and prose tends to be morose (stop that rhyming, I mean it!).
Every year, I sit down and put together a photo calendar for the current year that's made up of pictures from the previous year. I also do a photo book. I have a nice collection--I have a book for every year except for our first year, and at some point, I'll get around to that. I also don't have one for our wedding, but I have a real scrapbook for that--I think that counts. I rarely print pictures; the digital albums I have are nice. When I upload digital pictures, I am careful to organize them by month so that these projects aren't monumental. I've streamlined it; I can get the year done in about an hour.
Last year's book is so tainted.
It's so HAPPY.
I mean, sickeningly happy.
I am not complaining--I've had too many years of sadness.
Going through those 2012 pictures--you can see the joy on my face. It's an expression I haven't seen since I was pregnant with Hannah...it's hope, it's joy, it's ecstatic-ness...it spills over into every single picture from June-December, and even now, in the midst of the struggle of sleeplessness and emotion, it's there.
I am happy.
I'm afraid to say that...seems like I've spent so much time thinking that I would never be allowed to be happy again, that I'm afraid to accept that day may have arrived.
Can I actually give myself permission to be happy?
To be happy without being afraid of God?
To stop thinking, for real, that He's a Cosmic Killjoy?
I know He's none of those things..He loves us. But when you've had your heart broken so badly, the enemy creeps in. He messes with your head--he lies to you, and he convinces you that God couldn't love you...that He takes away your joy to keep you desperate. It's not true...but I'm scarred from believing that lie for so long, and even though last year I began to find my way away from that lie, I'm still tainted with it...still attacked with it...
So I hold my little guy, and I cry...and I pray...and I have faith that we will make it to 30 days with Jericho.
People tell me to stop worrying...to stop comparing...and I know I should, but it's nearly impossible. I'm doing things with him that I never had the chance to do with Hannah, and I'm fighting fear with every step.
We're at 26 days.
On Monday, I will breathe. On Tuesday, I will rejoice--one month old...He'll have outlived his sister by far.
These are comparisons that sneak in, that try to steal my joy...but they can't have it. I won't let it. I will fight these thoughts...I will hold my son...and I will thank God for the life that he has, for the life that he WILL have. I will not let this fear steal my joy.
I will celebrate my son.
I will celebrate joy.
I will be happy in this moment...for the bath times, for the feedings, even for the lack of sleep. I will be happy.
I will not be afraid to rejoice in the gift of life...
My pictures from 2012 will mark the celebration...the joy on my face in those pictures will spill over into every picture from 2013, and I will not see the "hollow girl" that I was for so long, rear her ugly head ever again...God willing, I will never have to go down that road again.
I will not write this in fear.
I will write this in healing...
In hope...
And in a victory that comes from answered prayers to a God Who loves us beyond belief.
I'm getting an inkling of how He feels about me, every time I look into those beautiful eyes...My son looks like my husband, but every now and then, I catch an expression and I wonder...just maybe...he might resemble me...Those are my fingers and toes, my legs...my eyebrows...that might be my nose (sorry, kid!)...That's David's chin, but those might be my ears...
He's a reflection of both of us...and I've never loved anyone like I love him. It's different, this time around...I wasn't sure I could love anyone as much as I loved Hannah, but I do...I love him the same, but different...I get it.
God loves us all the same...the childless, the Mom with 15 kids, the teenager who's confused about who they are, the wanderer who eventually finds his way home...He loves us all the same. He always knows where we are, and He always calls us home...He always opens His arms to us...
I hold my little guy to my chest, in his Moby wrap; I think of how I used to tell God that I just wanted to hang out in His shirtpocket, closest to His heart. I imagine myself held in the Father's arms like I hold JD, and I find peace in that moment...
All JD feels in that place is my heartbeat, and there's security in that closeness. That's where I want to be: where I can feel the Father's heartbeat, the rhythm of His love and peace.
Where I can feel His joy in knowing that His daughter finally knows she is loved...
The days of the week are passing by, and the subliminal timeline in my head is dwindling even now...
There is peace in His arms...
And there is happiness that is undeniable in that place...
I'm working on learning how to live that way...I have a long way to go. But that girl in the pictures I see? She sure looks like she's got it down...
I'll get there...

Valentine's Day...Sleep is Better than Roses

It’s Valentine’s Day.

I would normally eschew this day out of a commitment to my friends. I have several single friends; having been formerly single, I know too well how awful this craptacular Hallmark holiday can make a single girl feel. It SUCKS.  Even as a married woman, I really don’t care about celebrating this day, although every year, David makes it lovely.

He normally makes a wonderful dinner, we exchange cards, and it’s a very nice evening. We have never gone out on a date for V-Day, and I do not feel the slightest regret for that. David hates waiting in line, I don’t like over-extended wait staff, and neither of us enjoy spending money on something that we can cook for ourselves. We’re very “Grumpy Old Men” in that regards.

I can see us like that. I’ll probably look like Walter Matthau in drag by the time I’m 70, and David will look like Buddy Hackett…we can sit on the front porch, drink lemonade, and gripe about stupid made-up reasons to waste money we don’t have. There’s your mental image for the day!

In all seriousness, though, it’s a day where Facebook is FILLED with gooey sentiments about significant others. It’s a day where I want to call my single friends and tell them that it will pass…that God has a plan…that they’ll be okay…but I don’t want to step on toes, so I’m not calling them…but I am praying for them. It’s a brutal day that doesn’t deserve much attention.

On the other hand, it’s a day where I woke up and realized that I totally read the clock wrong…that in my semi-sleep-deprived state, that I asked my husband to take a 7:00 am feeding, not realizing that it would make him an hour late for work…and where he didn’t complain; he fed our little one, took an hour of vacation, and went into work at the wrong time. It wasn’t until I sat up (as the front door closed) that I realized what time it actually was, and that the sun was out.

I wound up with 2 hours of sleep that I suppose I needed…but so does he.

He feeds, changes, and cuddles our Little Guy.

He doesn’t complain.

I know he (and I) could sleep for a week if given the chance…but again, he doesn’t complain.

The men in our families don’t have the greatest track record for taking care of babies. Although my bio dad is pretty out of the picture, based on most of his attitudes, I don’t envision him changing a diaper. The guys in David’s family are the same way—it’s kind of a “cultural” thing. But invent in my short venture as a “stay-at-home-mom,” I can tell you that moms need help. (Interjection: Can I just say that changing a diaper is not "woman's work?" That feeding your baby is not just up to your wife? The measure of a man is determined by a lot of things--caring for your children is part of that. Guys that don't pitch in aren't men at all. I think that mentality is antiquated and disrespectful.)  Doing this alone would be so hard—single moms deserve SUCH respect! I don’t know how they do it, much less, moms of multiples or moms with more than one small child at home. I’m so impressed by my friends!!!

It’s the fact that David is a hands-on dad that blows my mind…that he obviously loves this Little Guy with all of his heart, and in spite of our occasional disagreements, he loves me, too.

So, it’s Valentine’s Day.

With one hand, I will join my single sisters in solidarity to state that this day is stupid.

On the other hand, I will stand with my married girls, and I will praise my husband at the “city gates” of my blog.

It’s a far different V-Day than any other that I’ve had…I’m sleep-deprived, my house is finally starting to emerge from my month-long absence, the bills are overflowing, and I couldn’t care less. There’s a husband coming home soon; my mom will be here today, my sister is coming over tonight; and there is the most perfect little reflection of both David and myself, sitting on the couch next to me, waving his arms, opening his eyes, and showing me that the love of a parent is immeasurable.

It’s a day that Hallmark couldn’t even dream of putting into words…

It’s a perfect day…

Random Thoughts of the Sleep-Deprived

Two weeks.

He's been in our lives for two whole weeks...and as time goes by, my internal clock ticks on...The rhythm continues: 29 days...15 down, 14 to go...halfway there...I can breathe in 15 more days...

I'd like to say that I'm stronger.

I'd like to say that I haven't had strange rounds of crying for no reason...

That I haven't yelled at my husband...

That I haven't looked at my post-pregnancy belly and cried

Will I ever hold a child in this stomach again?

Do I want to?

There are questions that I'd like to know the answers to, but know that now is not the time. There will be more tests, a lot of prayer, and hopefully, some financial stability.  Frankly, I’d like to adopt. But again-that’s a discussion for another time…

Days are different now…Wake up (struggle!), change-feed-pump-change-feed-pump…There’s a background of TV shows running that I hardly pay attention to. I pray a lot more…mostly, to speak words of life and mission over my son. I feel like as he grows up, that we’re raising him to send to a battlefield. It’s the very crux of his name: Jericho.

Jericho is a place that we speak of and often forget the significance. It’s a place where God’s people were called to battle, not with weapons, but with obedience and with worship. It took tremendous faith, to be the underdogs that marched silently around a fortified city. SILENTLY.

I’m not so good at “silent.”

The Israelites had no idea what would happen; only that God would take care of them. And He did—the city was flattened, and the people of the Lord prevailed in spite of the odds. It’s a pretty cool story. It’s even cooler that the name “Jericho” means “place of fragrance.” “Place of fragrance?” How many times do we hear that worship is a pleasing fragrance to the Lord? That’s where my son’s name comes from—our prayer is that he would be a place of worship to God.

I’m in a timeframe of silence right now. I’m away from people…I’m incubated. Thoughts of my return to the office are met with near-hysteria—I don’t want to go. I’d give just about anything to stay at home with my son, but due to the economy and some stupidity, we’re not in the place where we can financially do that. So, in a short amount of time, it’s back to the grindstone I go. I have arrangements made that will keep my son out of daycare—that was the most important thing for me, and I’m thankful for it. But leaving my son with someone…trusting them with the most precious person in my life…is not easy on my heart, so your prayers, even now, are appreciated.  I don’t know how I’m going to do it.

I have no idea what will happen.

I only know that God will take care of both of us.

That lack of understanding…the need to lean on Him…is a recurrent theme in my life. Just once, I’d like to know how something is going to play out, in advance…

I guess I kind of do…

I know that He will take care of us—is that enough? It has to be.

All of these things swirl in my head…my unexpected advanced leave of absence from the job, wondering if I’ll ever be pregnant again, wondering if I can get off the pre-pregnancy weight that I gained upon switching to a desk job last year (I seriously gained 30 pounds after taking the position I’m currently in—30, out of the 50 I had lost!!! Thankfully, the pregnancy weight is already gone.)…hoping that my heart decides to start working again like it’s supposed to…wondering if my blood pressure will ever be “normal” again, or if the cardiomyopathy will be permanent this time (highly unlikely)…trying to relinquish control over the things that I have no control over…missing my friends…not wanting to leave my house or my son…

Wondering if I’m crazy because I really, really enjoy this time by myself…just me and him…and hoping that’s normal (because my anti-social tendencies are really at an all-time high!)…

Feeling like the filter that I barely hang on to, is COMPLETELY gone (be nice to me)…feeling a little misunderstood…okay, a LOT misunderstood…

I don’t know…There’s a lot that’s rolling around in my brain. After we’ve passed our one-month marker, my hope is to start integrating JD into normal life…venturing out to church…perhaps trying to go to a store, or to GHOP…The sabbatical of doctors appointments and hospitals being my total social network is coming to an end, and it scares me…but it’s a necessity.

In the meanwhile, I am thankful. I know it doesn’t sound like it—I know I sound like a bit of an emotional mess. Blogging is generally a way to process the wall of thoughts that I have trouble sorting through, so bear with me. I’ll find my feet again. I think it’s just part of the post-pregnancy-processing. Part of my issue is that I honestly don’t remember my recovery after bringing Hannah home. I don’t think we had her home long enough for all of this to hit—we had her home for maybe 10 days? JD has been home for 8.

That one-month marker can’t come soon enough…

But I am thankful.

Thankful for every day with him…

For every smile (even though I know it’s gas)…

For every successful feeding…

For every time I pick him up, smell his hair (I think it might curl!), lay him on my chest, and feel him curl up to the sound of my janky old heartbeat…

For every little burp…

For every time he jailbreaks his swaddle…

For every expression…every picture…every time his eyes open…

For every hope, dream, and answered prayer that I see on his face….

I am thankful.

That much, I have total clarity in.

So for that,

I will rest in the knowledge that I have a Savior that I am thankful to, that will take care of me

That will take care of him

And that will hold our little family in His arms…

The Birth Story

Evidently, amongst my friends, it is the tradition of women to share their birth story. So, who am I, to oppose tradition? (Sing it with me!!!  "Traditiooooooon!!!! Tradition!" And I'm not even Jewish...that I know of :)
I'm sitting here, listening to my sister and my husband laugh at "The Lorax." My thoughts are a jumble from a lack of sleep, feelings of both joy and failure, questions for God that I can't verbalize, and a list of "to-dos" that is a mile long.
My son is just over a week old.
My son. 
A son!
Who would have ever pictured me with a little boy?  I am, after all, the ruffely-jewelry type...I guess I can't exactly put him in sequins (unless I want to raise Johnny Weir...and that's a no, people...although Lord knows I love my figure skaters)...
I'm over here melting at onesies that say things like "Handsome" or "Mommy's Hero."
This really isn't how I pictured it...
It's so much better...
I sent out a Christmas card this year saying that everything in my pregnancy was going great. I had a feeling that I shouldn't have sent that, and turns out, I was right. The cards went in the mail on a Saturday. The following Monday, we found out that my left ventricle was only functioning at 35%. By New Year's Eve, preeclampsia reared its ugly head, and I was admitted to MoBap.
33 days.
That's how long I spent in the hospital...27 of which, was spent percolating.
The medications for my heart gave me migraines; I spent a lot of time in a dark room.
My blood pressure was inconsistent.
Every ultrasound was perfect.
Every echocardiogram showed little-to-no improvement of my heart.
All of my blood work looked great.
Why was I in the hospital, again?
History.
Thank God for Hannah--she saved her little brother's life.
Dr. Michael Paul, MD--He's the genius that kept me in the hospital...the genius who loves life, who loves babies, and who loves mommies who want children, when every other doctor says no...He's the one that God put into my life, and into David's life, who channeled hope that came straight from the Lord. That man lives on a pedestal, and I will forever be grateful to him (He's a perinatologist at MoBap, if you ever need one--he's the one that all of my nurses said they'd send their daughters to, or go to, themselves--THAT says something).
He's the one who, over a year ago, implemented the "master plan" that culminated in my miraculous full-term, 37-week pregnancy.
I stayed pregnant.
Medications for my heart, kept me from pre-term labor (which started around 27 weeks). Prenatal vitamins, folic acid mixed with aspirin, daily shots of blood thinners, and 27 days of bed rest made a recipe for what I hoped would be a complication-free delivery...
We had no idea what we were in for.
My c-section went well...far better than the last time. There was no rush; there was no fear. There was a gentle calm to the delivery that, in spite of my worries about being cut on, was felt by everyone in the room. David was even able to cut the cord this time...
But the next morning, we heard the other part of the story...
This little boy...my flip-flopper, my dancer-ninja...was born with his umbilical cord looped around his neck three times.
The umbilical cord was also tied in a knot.
We couldn't have possibly known.
All of his fetal monitoring was perfect...
He had to be born, that day, at that time, or we would have lost it all...
We would have lost him...
And we would have lost everything.
What we didn't realize, was that how big of an impact my refusal to do one specific test, would have had on him: I refused my amniocentesis. Dr. Paul said it was typical for an amnio to be ordered at this stage, to make sure the baby's lungs were developed. He also informed me of the error rates in the test, and based on that, along with the invasive nature of the test, I very strongly refused. It's the only test I said "no" to (with the exception of the advanced testing for Down's Syndrome). I felt I shouldn't do the test. Wonder of wonders--the amniotic fluid tested at delivery said my son wasn't ready to come out of the womb yet. I would have fallen to a statistic--the fact is, my son's lungs are perfect, and had he not been delivered at 12:32 pm on 1/26/12, he would have died.
Chalk one up to Mother's Intuition--no, scratch that--Chalk one up to the intervention of the Holy Spirit.
When your doctor looks at you with tears in his eyes, and says that your case is one of those that frequently ends up in a stillbirth, your heart breaks in a million pieces for the parents who left that hospital with empty arms--especially when you know the feeling already. Every fear you've had comes snowballing back into your face like a freight train off of the tracks...how close we came...I still can't understand it all, but I know it's by the grace of God, and by the prayers of my friends, my family, my husband, and by the prayers of crazy "drunks" like Hannah in I Samuel (reference to previous blog, if you're confused). Maybe all of the tears and prayer paid off--I certainly believe it.
I've written about how steps are ordered by God...about how God shows that He loves us in the leaves. I've written a lot about loss, about the journey, and about finding my way back home to Him again...about how desperately I need Him, how frequently I fail, and how ferociously He loves me.
When your doctor tells you that your son had an angel on his shoulder, the words you've written--the altars you've made--bow down to the beauty of seeing just how big God is for that one moment in time.
My heart stops every time I think of the look on Dr. Paul's face when he told us how close we came.
We're back home now...
Life is forever changed.
It's not easy...I'm having troubles with milk (TMI, but it's my blog) and with hating myself for my reduction surgery...I can't supply for my son everything that he needs.
I fall short in an area where other mothers have an abundance that they usually don't appreciate. I struggle with feeling like a failure in that aspect.
But you know where I haven't failed? I haven't failed in praying for my son. I haven't failed in laying a foundation for him for life, for survival...his name means "place of fragrance," or "place of worship," and he is. That little boy lives every day as an altar to God, in a way that the Hannahs of this world understand. He is my very own "Boy Who Lived" (HP Reference!!!), and I can't look at him without praising God and inwardly falling to my knees. I also cannot ignore the fact that my history, painful as it was, laid a foundation for his life, and for my different perspective, this time around.
I will never be everything my son needs in this world. Neither will his father. But the one thing we can do, is to point him towards the Lord. We can tell him his birth story...about his own miracle...and we can hopefully let him know that God has a plan for him...that He's had a plan for him since conception...and that he has a mission to fulfill in his time on this earth. We can let him know that we are here for him...we can teach him how we try, how we fail, and how God loves us.  We can raise him to know Who can supply his every heart's desire, like He supplied my heart's desire.
We can show him Jesus with skin on, and we can teach him to be that, to others.

Unfortunately, we can't seem to teach him that daytime is NOT sleepytime...but that's a blog to be written at another time!!!!!!!   :)

The greatest thing we can teach him, after all, is that he is loved...in abundance...daytime or nighttime...by a God Who made the leaves for him to marvel at, by a mother that spent a month in the hospital just to see his face, by a father that would fight a lion in his defense, and by a family that has stuck together through the deepest valleys on the earth...

(For those who have asked, at this point, I am fine. My cardiac function will be tested in about 1-2 months; I'm still on a couple of medications that I'd like to be off of. My blood pressures are too high, but I'm hoping as my weight comes off, that will change. I am hoping for a clean bill of health over the next month or so. Your prayers are appreciated, as between the bed rest, the c-section, and the heart issues, not to mention the new baby, I'm pretty tired. Other than that, I'm elated, and trying not to hover over every sound JD makes! Thank you so much for your continued prayers...we look forward to seeing you as soon as this epic flu season subsides! :)