Surprises

As I continue to adjust to my role as a mom, I have to admit, there were a few surprises that no one prepared me for - even the wisest and most experienced mamas I know.  Some turned out to be pleasant and others, well...you'll see.

1. My skin grew up.  In a good way.  I suffered for a very long time with acne.  I mean - we're talking over twenty years of my life, trying Noxema and Clearasil and Pro-Activ and three different medications from the dermatologist and countless other treatments, and virtually nothing worked long-term.  The closest I came was with the oil-cleansing method, but even that wasn't fool-proof.  My skin was pretty clear during my pregnancy, which I knew isn't usually the case.  So I buckled down and prepared for the worst when the hormones shifted after the baby came.  Nothing changed.  I am insanely grateful, and now leave the house without make-up more frequently.  Of course, people still seem to think I'm "sick" or "tired" without it, but that's life.

2. Never change a diaper immediately after a poop.  This one probably is SUCH a no-brainer to most moms that they don't even think of it as useful advice.  I figured it out on my own, and we won't get into any details, but I have a 60-second rule now with changing a diaper full of number two.

3. Formula is freeing.  This one doesn't apply to everyone, but it did for me.  After several weeks of attempted nursing, and lots of emotional trauma, we finally elected to exclusively formula-feed our little guy.  In spite of the heated mommy wars surrounding this topic, we've found that it works best for our family.  In my case, nursing was such a painful and frustrating experience that I grew to dread it.  Heaven forbid I should be in public when the baby got hungry.  I felt forced to make a hasty retreat home, red-faced and shameful.  I didn't want to feed in public because it made me uncomfortable - not to mention, after seven weeks, baby still couldn't get the swing of things.  For us, formula has allowed the rest of the family to participate more in caring for the baby, as well as given us more mobility.  

4. It's okay NOT to worry.  Wanting a (cheap) date night, my husband and I planned to see Guardians of the Galaxy at a local cinema's $5 night right up the road from my parents' house.  We left the baby and a bag full of supplies with them and I am not joking when I say that not an ounce of worry entered my mind.  I knew my parents were going to shower him with love, and my step-mom's extensive experience with children and babies certainly was a comfort, too.  I felt guilty only because I thought I was supposed to wail and cry and mourn about my first time away from my newborn.  Nope.  See #3 above.

5.  Babies are noisy.  I'm not talking about the crying.  I mean, I had no idea that this dude was going to grunt like a billy goat and sigh and sniffle and growl and shriek and hiss.  The first few times these sounds erupted forth from my tiny infant, I just stood there with my head cocked to the side, assuming that one of the cats had snuck into the room and was making terrifying bleating noises.  But no - cats don't typically do that, either.  On the plus side: he's cooing now and it is the best sound in the whole world since the beginning of time.

6. Nothing can prepare you for the NICU experience.  Especially if you've gotten this far after dealing with infertility or pregnancy loss, you might think you're invincible.  The worst has already happened and no matter what, things will be okay once the baby is delivered.  Not true.  Even though our little boy was only in for nine days, and received wonderful care, those days were some of the hardest and most miserable we've ever experienced.  Not only was I in emotional and physical pain from an emergency c-section, but every time we visited the baby, the updates changed - not always for the better.  My heart will always go out to parents whose babies are in the NICU, no matter what the circumstance.

7. The first time someone questions a decision you've made, your heart will break.  And your world will dim for a moment, and you'll panic and you'll stumble and you'll wonder if you're a terrible parent and you'll re-evaluate every single plan of action you'd considered.  But then, chances are, you'll realize that you're doing the best you can in your situation, for your family.  And you'll learn to handle people sneering because you're not breastfeeding...or sneering because you are breastfeeding.  And, when your baby smiles at you, the haughty look you got from that random old lady at Sheetz after a misguided and awkward conversation about homeschooling...well, that doesn't matter at all.  Not.  At.  All.

Any other first-time moms get some unexpected surprises - pleasant or otherwise? - when baby was born?

Team Pink or Team Blue?

If you're a friend or follower of mine on social media sites, then you already know.  But for those of you who might not be aware...

It's a boy!

Trust me, as thrilled as we are, both Ross and I are shocked off our rockers.  I was convinced I was carrying a girl.  Most of my friends thought it was a girl.  Heck, even my Italian-American, meat-loving, gun-toting Papa was excited to have a granddaughter.  

Maybe in a few more years.  But first up, a bouncing baby boy!

Our anatomical ultrasound could have been nerve-wracking, but our technician, Connie, was relaxed and friendly.  Ross asked her to check the heart for abnormalities, which she is supposed to do anyway, because, in the back of our minds, we wondered if this little baby might suffer from the same heart defect Ross was born with.  We immediately received the news that the heart was fine...as were the brain, bowels, spine, and everything else - even the baby's tiny little toes!

I suppose things didn't look too different than the 8 bazillion sonogram images my friends have posted online, but when it's yours, it's just a little more - magical?  Miraculous?  I don't know.  It's pretty neat to get to post pictures of my little guy on my bedroom mirror and think that, in a few short months, I'll be seeing him face to face.

Even though we "cheated" and learned the gender before we had originally planned to, we went ahead and had my stepmom's birthday cake act as our gender reveal cake.  We wanted to keep things pretty intimate, so we just invited family and a few of her closest friends to join us for a little party.  She didn't know the cake she was cutting was going to be pink or blue, though, so she definitely started to cry when she put two and two together (which was pretty quickly; she's a smart cookie).  A cheer went up when she sliced the cake to reveal its neon blue interior.  Of course, everyone would have cheered if it was pink, too.  I think our friends and family were just as relieved to know that the baby is healthy and growing normally.  

We are immeasurably grateful for that.  Trust me.  

What I'm less than grateful for is the comments I've gotten.  I shouldn't really complain; I haven't had the onslaught of them that some of my friends have received (my buds Matt and Jaime, happily expecting their FOURTH little girl - because they actually wanted a large family - get nasty looks from total strangers because they have - gasp! - more than two children).  Still, hearing, "You're big for 21 weeks - are they sure it's not twins?" is a bit of a stab in the gut.  "Why, yes, I am certain that all four of my ultrasounds were incorrect and I'm not carrying a single child, but actually a litter of them!"  I mean...people...I'm five feet tall.  I'm all chest and hips.  I have virtually no torso.  There is nowhere for the baby, plus my internal organs and pre-existing fat stores, to go.  My other favorite comment was from a family member who insisted that the name we chose would cause the child to be made fun of his entire life.  Never mind the fact that we carefully chose it for its meaning, significance, lack of uber-trendiness, and sound with our last name (which, as you know, is pretty distinct). 

Fortunately, most folks have simply been as joyful and grateful and excited as we are. 

I'm wondering what these next few months are going to be like.  Although I didn't suffer the morning sickness that bothered a lot of my friends, I've had pregnancy rhinitis for the past four months.  That's pretty much non-stop sniffles and watery eyes.  It's definitely been unpleasant.  And, now that I'm showing, I'm swinging between feeling like an absolute goddess (ooh, I am glowing, aren't I?) and wanting to curl up in a ball and cry because none of my clothes fit and I am already having a hard time putting on my socks (thankfully, they still fit).

They say it's quite a roller coaster, and I'm inclined to agree.

Christmas Redeemed

Since I was a teenager, Christmas has been a difficult time for me.  My parents separated immediately after Christmas when I was 14 or 15.  Suddenly the holidays were split between Mom’s family and Dad’s.  Though my parents never “fought” over us, my sister and I were nevertheless shuttled between Bridgeville and Crafton, sometimes further, depending on who was in town that year. 

 

I lost my job at Starbucks a few days before Christmas is 2008.  My mom moved in the same week, and it was extremely difficult for both of us.

 

For many years, I cried at the sight of Christmas lights because they reminded me of the times before my parents separated – decorating the tree, listening to the Beach Boys’ Christmas album (which my dad later admitted he hated), and watching Mom make Christmas cookies (I wasn’t allowed to help, probably because I was so clumsy).  For years, I cried because I never had a date for Christmas.  I was lonely. Even as a fairly well-adjusted person, and a person with a strong faith, I had a hard time during the holidays.  I can see how someone who was struggling with depression or  a serious life change might have an even harder time.

 

The first Christmas I allowed myself to really enjoy was the one immediately before my wedding. Christmas 2009 saw my bridal shower, some weight loss, and a general sense of excitement and hope. I was going to be married two weeks later!  My first Christmas as a wife was rather disappointing, though, as Ross and I got our signals crossed about gift-giving and there was some miscommunication that I almost let ruin the whole day (fortunately we can laugh about it now).

 

The next two Christmases were marked by loss.  In August of 2011 and in May and September of 2012, we lost our babies – not to mention several friends of the family near the holidays, as well.  Christmas was hard.  Seeing images of that sweet little Baby in His mother’s arms, singing songs to the infant Savior, and passing by Nativity scenes showing the adoration of the Christ – it was all so very emotional.  Times like that, I was grateful for a small family.  I didn’t have dozens of cousins with babies of their own showing up at family parties.  Instead, I grew closer with my dad’s family – it’s just my Grandma, my aunt and uncle.  We live close together, and grieve together.

 

This year, we lost my mother in February and Ross’s grandmother in July – and then, a dear friend suffered a miscarriage just recently.  We admit, we’re getting to that age where people and things are beginning to pass away.  The knowledge that our friends have lost jobs, lost parents and grandparents and unborn babies, lost their faith…it doesn’t make things easier.  We’ve had a tough four years, Ross and I.  We can say, with all modesty, that we’re grateful we’ve stuck it out.  We know people have gotten divorced for far less than what we’ve gone through.  We are grateful to God, our church, and our family and friends who have been understanding and supportive through all of our trials.  They have helped us laugh, let us grieve, encouraged us to hope, and loved us faithfully.

 

This year, Christmas was different.

 

Christmas Eve marked the end of our first trimester.

 

Yes, we’re pregnant.  

 

And this baby is going to make it.

 

We found out on Halloween (what a treat, huh?), although I knew it about a week prior – in spite of a negative test. Since I’d switched OB-GYNs after my second miscarriage and received excellent, sympathetic and professional care with my third loss, I knew that I would be given a lot of attention this time around.  Earlier genetic testing and blood work had revealed that there was nothing “wrong” with either of us.  We prayed, waited, and wondered, and felt that it was best to try again this past fall.  My doc put me on progesterone even before we conceived, in order to help my body support a pregnancy.  It must have worked.  We’ve seen or heard the heartbeat four times now, and the baby is growing at a steady rate.  I’ve been praying over the baby regularly, and the verse that was quickened to me was John 10:10, “The enemy has come to steal, kill, and destroy, but I have come to that you may have life, and life abundant.”  These are the words of Jesus and have brought me great comfort.  Although we believe that our other children are in Heaven, they never got to experience the joy of getting to know Jesus – the journey of walking with Him, of turning from sin and choosing a life of love and hope.  This child will have that opportunity – not just for eternal life, like his or her siblings have already received, but for a fulfilling and joyful life with Christ on this earth.

 

Still, the “perfect pregnancy” I was hoping for, alas, is not a reality yet.  When I started to bleed around 7 weeks, I was rushed in for a ultrasound, but nothing was determined other than the baby was fine.  Two weeks later, I went back for a follow-up and we learned that I have a very common condition – a subchorionic hematoma.  That’s a super-fancy name for a bleed in the uterus.  It’s rarely a problem for the growing baby, but it can cause a lot of bleeding and inconvenient (ie., terrifying, especially for a woman who has lost three babies).  The problem with mine was that, at least at 9 weeks, it was the same size as the placental sac.  Fortunately, problems arise in only about 1% of pregnancies with hematoma.  In fact, a very recent study, done in October of 2013, revealed that the rate of miscarriage among women with hematoma was no higher than women without them, provided that a viable pregnancy had been established (ours has).  That was so encouraging, even though I bled nearly every day for almost six weeks.  Happily, a late December check-up revealed that the hematoma had dramatically shrunk in size and my bleeding had stopped.  Baby was growing! 

 

Please know that, although this is really thrilling and life-changing, it is so scary to share it with you.  Although I believe this is finally “it”, and we’ll get to hold this little one in our arms in this lifetime, there’s still a bit of doubt nibbling at me.  Why wouldn’t there be?  I have a strong faith and friends who encourage me, but what woman, after three losses, wouldn’t be terrified to tempt fate? I am fortunate that my friends – especially the older women at church – have spoken life over me, spoken God’s promises over me, and spoken words of hope and prophecy to me.  It helps so much to know that I’m not the only one who wants to meet this baby!  There are dozens of people praying daily, and for me, that is a great comfort and it gives me strength.  These aren’t people who are whimpering weakly before God, ‘Please let the baby live!’  These are people who understand their authority in Christ, and who boldly come before God and remind him of his promises – as he commanded.  People who have been speaking scriptures over me, who have confidence when I do not. 

 

I’m “going public” now, even though I am afraid, because I know that there are childless women who read my blog.  I know that there are women who still grieve over their losses who read it.  I know there are men who don’t know how to help their wives, sisters, and daughters, who are struggling to have children, who read it.  I want to encourage others.  I want to open up my heart and share my journey.  Those who know me well know that writing is healing for me. 

 

We specifically chose this day to reveal our big news because it would have been my mom’s 59^th birthday.  We wanted to be able to remember today as a joyful day, when we got to share something special with our friends, rather than a day that “should have been”.  It’s the best way I can think of right now to honor her.

 

Thank you for coming on this journey with us.

Crazy Cat Lady

I do not believe in ghosts.  Or that the spirits of the dead can inhabit the bodies of the living.  I do, however, believe that spiritual gifts can be passed from one generation to another.

Freyja's new toy.  :-/

Now, granted, I don't recall that "talking to animals" is listed among any spiritual gifts in the New Testament.  Nevertheless, I'm thinking that, just maybe, upon her passing, my mom's uncanny and often freakish ability to connect with animals may have fallen upon my shoulders.

I mean, I held a chipmunk the other day.  That's, like, Disney Princess level animal communication, right?!

I guess maybe it's more of a mutant power than a spiritual gift.

My mom, to my recollection, was never a social butterfly.  She was certainly good with people, especially when she worked in the service industry.  But she was never, ever a "let's chat over a cappuccino" kind of girl.  Especially in her later years, I think she preferred the company of animals to people.  I mean, can you blame her?  Scroll through your Facebook feed for thirty seconds if you still wonder a person might like dogs better than humans.

My mom rescued a groundhog who had gotten his head stuck in a jelly jar.  My mom taught our adopted mutt to obey commands that she spelled.  My mom caught and freed panicked hummingbirds that had gotten trapped in our garage.  My mom had four neighborhood pups trained to line up on her porch for treats twice a day.  My mom nursed a mostly-dead tomcat back to full-fluffed, glossy and shiny health, despite repeated suggestions that she let the local vet "put that thing out of its misery".  I am fairly certain that my mom could have taught a fish to sing or a rabbit to brew her tea.  My mom had a gift.

Granted, I fell head-over-heels in love with my sweet Thor long before we lost my mom, and we adopted our snuggly Loki months before she passed away.  Yes, I cuddle them, even when I am wearing black (Thor in particular enjoys leaving his soft gray brand of fluff all over the house).  Yes, I have long, detailed conversations with them.  I also baby-talk to them.  I sometimes even let them sleep with me.  But. . .

. . .Twoper - now Freyja - didn't stroll back into my life until after my mom was gone.  I wouldn't be surprised if she'd asked God to send us just one more kitty to love - one cat to temporarily fill the void left after each of our lost pregnancies.  Three fur-babies to love.  Freyja will be getting a visit to the vet in the next few weeks, if we can set aside the money, and she'll be moving from Porch Cat to her rightful place as a Cat of Asgard.  She is certainly the gentlest cat I've ever met.  In the more than six weeks that she has been hanging around my house, not once has she scratched, swatted, or bit at Ross or me - or anyone else.  In fact, during our Geek Gala, she positioned herself like a tiny, loaf-shaped sentry in the middle of the porch and saw our guests out with a rumbly meow.  I love to cuddle with her and scratch her back.

Last week, when Ross and I were leaving Target, we encountered a man about our age holding an absolutely gorgeous gray and black kitten.  "You guys want a cat?" he asked.  I must have looked shocked, because he hurriedly continued, "I found her by Chick-Fil-A and I gave her some food and now she won't leave me alone."  Sure enough, when he placed her on the ground, she sniffed at Ross, then our truck, and rubbed up against me, but lingered nearby.  Of course I wanted her!  Ross even had the same look on his face that he did when we impulsivelyadopted Loki.  But four cats?  With one not even house-trained yet?  "I'm sorry," I said sadly, "We just adopted out local stray, or else we'd take her."  "That's what happened to us!  That's how we got our cat," the guy replied enthusiastically.  At least we could tell he was a cat-friendly person.  As we reluctantly left, I prayed that the little girl would end up in a home that really needed the unconditional love of a pet.

Loki is a Jedi.

That's the thing about cats, people.  Yes, they do have a reputation for being aloof, solitary, and, thanks to internet-sensation Tardar Sauce (AKA Grumpy Cat), even arrogant.  Some are, I guess.  Unlike those cats of world wide web fame, Loki is flat-out sociable.  She jumps into the laps of people who are trying to eat at my dinner table.  She spent all of last month's party in the middle of the living room, politely perched on a pillow or examining vacant chairs.  She plays fetch with her woefully ragged cloth mice (the last gift my mom had picked out for them before she died).  She is curious and desperately cuddly (some of the time).  Thor, I guess, is more your typical housecat.  He is irritated by changes in routine; he's possessive; he's often dismissive.  He thinks he's the alpha male, but he doesn't really act like it.  But with me, he's a bundle of loving fluff.  He curls up on my chest at night, before I go to bed, and demands that I put my phone down to nuzzle his nose.  He'll flop on the couch and watch television with me.  He lets me flip him on his back and stick my face in his bunny-soft belly fur.  He lets me clip his claws with absolutely no protest.  He even lets us bathe him

Thor is a superhero.

with minimal fuss.  And it was Thor who came to me when I learned of my friend Linda's passing, and he sat with me on the bathroom floor until I was done crying.

Freyja will  likely have her own set of quirks when she moves in.  I can't wait to see how she lets us love her, and how she shows her love in return.

Yes, this formerly skeptical girl has become a full-blown crazy cat lady.  Apparently, contrary to popular opinion, being happily married does not prevent this condition.  Even my baby sis, dog-mom to the Unreasonably Huge Mutt, Tex, admits that her recently-adopted kitten, Ranger, has wormed his way into her heart and become a part of her family much faster than she expected.

All I can say is "told you so!"

Reflection

As I sit in front of the computer on my day off, coffee cup in hand, listening to the sound of the kitten upstairs, destroying my personal belongings, I'm contemplating what has happened in my life over the past couple of weeks.

And it's all been for the best.

Don't get me wrong...it's been incredibly difficult and painful.  We are still sad.  People say many things to a grieving woman; although it's all well-meant, it's not all terribly soothing.  I don't entirely buy into the idea that God "spared me" from having a special needs or sickly child.  This is a quote I often hear when people attempt to comfort a woman who has miscarried.  "Maybe God was saving you and the baby from trouble and pain."  Distilled to its implied meaning, it says that God "loved me more" than the parents of children who do have special needs, which is ridiculous, arrogant, and untrue.  I know it isn't what people mean when they say such a thing, but that's what it comes down to.  Therefore, I do not believe it.

What I do need to believe is not that the child would have had physical or mental disabilities, but that, based on the way it (I think it was a she; we named her Olivia Rae) was forming, that life outside the womb could not have been possible at all - not that it would have been possible with some degree of difficulty or special care.  Thinking this does bring me some peace...although I still have so many questions.  Please don't think that my faith allows me to blindly, cheerfully accept everything that life sends my way.  I think that people who see me responding to life in a fairly well-adjusted way assume that I am either 1.) in denial or 2.) faking it.  

Not so.

Believe me, I have plenty of questions for God.  My heart is breaking.  I can't understand why things happened the way they did.  I had just accepted the idea of being pregnant.  I had already bought a few pieces of maternity clothing.  We were looking at cribs and paint for the baby's room.  I was beginning to fantasize about how I would look at Christmas time, seven months pregnant, struggling to appear glowing and radiant in photographs.  And, suddenly, none of those things mattered or even applied to me anymore.  What a crushing blow!  But, in a deeper place in my heart than all my doubt and disappointment,  lives my faith.  What happened to me has not changed God's character or his love for me - or his sorrow when I weep.  I told a co-worker yesterday, a young woman of whom I am very fond, that the sorrow in my life doesn't cancel out the joy.  When I feel sorrow, I will weep.  When I feel joy - even fleeting happiness in a silly situation or with a good friend - I will laugh.   Why should grief smother joy?  They can exist in the same heart.  When depression settles in and pushes joy aside entirely, that is when we should be concerned.  I know that the depth of my grief, even though I truly believe I lost a child, and not just a pregnancy, can't quite compare to the mother who felt the baby's kicks or held the baby in her arms before her loss, but it's still profound.

It's also strangely comforting.

For many people, death and tragedy is a heart-stopping and depressing reminder that we are not promised tomorrow.  Some people wise up and begin to treasure their loved ones a little more and their belongings a little less.  Some people continue to chase pleasure and wealth because, for them, death is a confirmation that there is nothing beyond this life, and we should enjoy things while we can.

For me, death is a promise that those of us who have called on the name of Jesus will be reunited in glory.  Although we sorrow and mourn now, our loved ones have seen Christ face-to-face and have embraced his beautiful, nail-scarred hands and wrists.

And they have the fullness of joy.

Last week, God gave me a little glimpse of that joy when we gathered the youth group together for our first-ever YNoP (Youth Night of Prayer).  Although we had literally experienced the miscarriage only days before, Ross and I both felt very strongly that we were to continue with the event rather than postpone it (we had scheduled it all the way back in June).  Carry on we did, and it was amazing.  Guest speakers from the church came to talk to the teenagers about praying for Jerusalem and about who the Holy Spirit really is.  We had times of prayer for the church, for our friends, our families, and, possibly most importantly, ourselves (if you think that is prideful or conceited, read this).  At the end of the evening, as the sun was coming up, we began to pray for each other.  It was incredibly powerful, with thirteen and fourteen-year-old kids exhorting and encouraging each other with scripture, words of knowledge, and prophecy.  Some of these children had never before had the boldness to speak out in love for a fellow Christian.  I really believe their lives were changed that night.  They came to me afterward and asked when the next YNoP would be.  A dozen kids genuinely on fire for God?  Most churches should even be so lucky!  Although Ross and I were bone-tired by the end of the event, we were satisfied.  Our presence there was a firm stand that even grief cannot oppress God's plans and purpose.  It wasn't our will that carried us there; it was his.

And I am at peace.  God is taking care of my child right now.  I will do my best to take care of his.