New Normal...or Not

I’ve seen a lot of press lately about postpartum depression and anxiety. Thank goodness. It amazes me that there is still so much stigma around such an important issue, that babies (and mamas) are literally dying because of it-and yet I understand completely because when I went through it my biggest fear was that someone would find out. 

After we lost Rip, everyone asked me if I was depressed all of the time. Doctors, nurses, my parents, friends- and the answer was yes, but understandably so. Under all of that overwhelming grief, I somehow sensed that this was a situational depression, “normal” in the most abnormal of circumstances. I was feeling everything you would expect to feel after the loss of your child and as awful as it was I needed to feel it. Grief is different for everyone and for me, at that time, medication just seemed to make things worse. This pain was necessary, something I had to endure to make it through to the other side.

It was different after Gracie was born. Here I was in this amazing, joyful time. The answer to all of my prayers had arrived. I could finally relax…except I couldn’t. Not in a normal, new parent way. Not in a newly sleep-deprived, what in the heck happened to my life way. Not even in a parent who lost a child way. In a something isn’t right, anxiety-ridden way. In an obsessive-compulsive way. 

It took me weeks to leave Gracie's side, and by leave her side I mean walk out onto the driveway with Parke while my mother-in-law stayed with the baby in our house. If someone spilled something, if something was messy, my heart raced until it was clean again. I showered twice a day. I worried obsessively about Gracie’s safety, about falling down the stairs with her or burning her when I opened the oven. I worried if someone knew about these worries they would come and take her from me. Somewhere deep inside I knew this couldn’t be normal, but I was supposed to be normal now…finally normal…and I was too ashamed for anyone to know otherwise. I’d put everyone through too much already. All of this started to fade after about a month, and was completely gone around two or two and a half months. Only after it was over did I realize how bad it had been, how afraid and irrational I’d been.

When I saw my doctor several weeks after it was all over, she asked me what I thought of those first few months. She asked it in a, “wasn’t is amazing” kind of way. I told her I thought I could have really benefited from some medication. It wasn’t the answer she was expecting, because at the time I’d told her we were doing great! We were so in love! So happy! And that was true…but I was also in need of help. She couldn’t have known that. Nobody could have..but I think maybe if people were talking about postpartum anxiety and depression then as they are now, even four years ago, I would have felt better about opening up when I needed to.

Except for that doctor’s appointment, this is pretty much the only time I’ve ever admitted to feeling that way. I never wanted it to sound like I was anything less than extremely grateful and in love with my baby girl. Now I see how silly that sounds- the only way I could have loved her more was to have taken better care of myself when I needed it. 

For the record, I had no symptoms of postpartum anxiety with Sam. Poor soul has been dragged to Target from week one. Gracie may never forgive me for those months of missed shopping opportunities. In all seriousness, though, my point is that my experiences only go to show how unpredictable this can be. So thank goodness for the brave mamas out there telling their stories and helping others get the help they need. 

Short Hair, She Does Care

After age three got off to an…interesting…start, our girl is finishing it off with a bang. This child keeps me biting the insides of my cheeks daily as she informs me I am “NOT opposed to be laughing at her!”

Easier said than done, though, as she comes up with some real gems.

Car rides are always entertaining:

G-“Mama, I wish Sammy was still a tiny baby”

Me-“Well, sometimes I do, too, but he is fun now isn’t he?”

G-“This is so disappointing”

Me-“Sammy, say MA-MA”

Sammy-“Goo gaa, spit, blurb, goo”

G- “Mama, he CAN’T right now. He’s doing some very IMPORTANT things back here.”

Bath time is equally so:

G-“Mama, can you wash off my baby doll?”

I do, as bubbles come flying out of said baby’s nether regions

G-“Well. I didn’t see THAT coming!”

Deep conversations tend to take unexpected turns:

G-“Mama, how does God have powers?”

Me- (slightly panicked) “Well, God is all-powerul and he created us all…”

G-“Why did he create us?”

Me-“Because he loves us so much, blah blah more words more words”

G-“Well, I wish he’d created me with long hair”

Me-“…"

And then sometimes they don’t.

G-“Mama, why do you go to Heaven?”

Me-“Well, that is where you go when your body can’t live here anymore... but you don’t have to worry about that right now”

G- “When you are old?”

Me-“Yes, when you are old”

G-“Is Baby Rip in Heaven?”

Me-“Yes...”

G-“What if God wants me to go to Heaven?”

Me-“He doesn’t, baby, not yet. He wants you right here with me.”

Through laughter and tears (and yes, the occasional toddler meltdown that still rears its ugly head) I never forget how this child is the answer to the most gut-wrenching, sincere prayers I’ve ever prayed in my life. She’s the Christmas present that keeps on giving and I love every (much to her dismay, short) hair on her little head.

My Everything Just Right

Sometimes when I put Sam to bed at night, I am overcome with a rush of gratitude so huge all I can do is sit there and kiss his little hairy head over and over again. This child. He fit me perfectly from the very first.

Don’t get me wrong, my “sweet Sam” has started to show himself these days,making his presence known when things don’t go his way. We all have the bite (and pinch) marks to prove it. He enjoys tormenting his sister (who is really very sweet to him…most of the time) and will do something he knows he is not supposed to do looking you dead in the eye all the while. Bad. But all is quickly forgiven after appropriate reprimands are given, and the snaggle-toothed grin is still an almost permanent fixture on his chubby little face.

Yes! We have rolls! After his first year of being in the 5th percentile of nearly everything, baby boy discovered wonderful things like pizza, chicken, rice, peas, yogurt, anything in squeeze form, mashed potatoes…basically food. He likes food. A lot. While his sister picks and prods at her dinner, Sam plows through his and signs for more. I swear our grocery bill went up by half when the child started eating solids.

Also in recent developments (like, the past week or so), he speaks. Words include: bye-bye, mama, dada, stop, hot, all done, rock rock, woof woof, and uh-oh. You would likely not be able to decipher any of these words but I am his mother and I am telling you, this is what he is saying. Boy genius. Additionally, in our wheelhouse is shaking our head “no”. Frequently.

Sam is still a Mama’s boy. He loves to cuddle and generally finds the best time for a cuddle to be when I am unloading the dishwasher, getting dressed, or trying to shower. One look at that little face and stretched out palms and I am toast. 

Sammy is an easy laugher, loves a good game of peek-a-boo (who doesn’t?), and books. He is ticklish all over and I believe has had four bloody lips in the past two weeks (I don’t think Gracie has ever had one).

I adore my rough and tumble lover of a baby boy. He is sweetness and light, and my everything just right. 

Balancing Act

I, along with seemingly half the people on my Instragram feed these days, just started reading Jen Hatmaker’s For the Love. The first night I got the book I did something that I haven’t done in I can’t tell you how long. I got in a nice, hot bath and started to read. This actually is a something I find to be better in theory than in practice. I enjoy baths and I love to read, but it unnerves me to get wet fingerprints on my books and then I have to keep adding hot water and my top half is always a little too cold, so I end up reading a couple of pages before jumping out into the comfort of my sweatpants, but I digress.

Anyway, I managed to shiver through a few pages that really hit home about balance. Hatmaker uses an analogy of a balance beam, which anyone who knows me knows is not really something I can relate to…I can barely keep my balance on land…but her point is that it is really, really important for us to find what is crucial to our lives and get rid of the rest. 

That’s something that I have been having trouble with lately (always).

I’ve mentioned before that I am a little bit (a lot) impulsive. Its a part of my personality that I really do love. I love the fact that I think everything sounds like fun, that I truly believe everything is going to be great etc. etc. It is also a part of my personality that can bring me a lot of unnecessary stress. For instance. In the last 6 months, I signed up for a second “side gig” (read: job), a half marathon, and several freelance writing gigs…on top of my full-time job, kids, husband, house etc. So in between flooding rains, stomach bugs, ear infections, flashbacks to five years ago when we lost Rip, and doing all of aforementioned “normal” things, I was also attempting a sales job, fitting in 10 mile runs, and writing about this and that. 

No surprise I ended up feeling like I was failing at all of it.

What stays on my balance beam? What goes?

 I had to say goodbye to the side gig, and maybe next year to the half marathon. Then, in true Anne fashion, I immediately started to think about all of the things I could add.

I need to see my friends more. And I need to exercise. And I need more faith activities. So, I could call this friend about a Bible Study, and this friend about yoga, and I really love to write so maybe I add more…

And then that train of thought just stopped dead. Most likely it was God beating His head against some celestial body. Probably like, “ANNE! Dear. Sweet. Anne. For the love of Me. Can we just…not? For this season, anyway. Let’s. NOT.”

Which is fair.

While this is, to say the least, a bittersweet time of year, it is also such a special time to have kids. Gracie is about to bust she is so excited about Halloween and Christmas (not to mention her birthday). Sam is learning so much every day, his little personality is just starting to peek through. What would happen if I really took the next few months and just-stopped. If I just enjoyed them, as they came. What if I had impromptu drinks with friends instead of planning things way in advance? What if I kept reading good, faith-inspiring books? What if I took the kids on long walks in the sunshine (and ok, maybe threw in some 8 minute abs for good measure)? What if I treated myself every now and then- or just cut myself a break?

Listen, this isn’t going to be a permanent change, I know that. Hopefully, by the ripe old age of 30 -something we have all realized we are who we are. Since I had this epiphany two nights ago I have almost signed up for a gym membership and considered writing a book. This ain’t gonna be easy, friends-its a balancing act, to say the least. But you know, shaky baby steps across the beam are okay. 

And, if you see me in your jazzercise class before January 1st, please just escort me to the door.

Are you okay?

Today, while I was sitting at Gracie's ballet class, I got an email from BabyCenter.com. It was alerting me that someone had answered my question.

My question, apparently, was from 2010, where I had written the following:

"I am pregnant with my first baby and have been diagnosed with a conditioned called vasa previa. I am going to have to deliver via c-section at 35 weeks- does anyone have experience with this?"

What I received today was not, in fact, an answer to that question...but a question from another mother who herself was facing the same situation. It was the only response I've received in almost five years. It read, "I too am facing vasa previa and am set to deliver at 34 weeks and 1 day. I found your post and wanted to know- are you and your baby okay?"

How to answer this question?

I mean there is the obvious answer, of course. But there is so much more to it than that.

How do I tell her that I cried today, nearly five years later, because I lost that baby. I also nearly cried today because I couldn't find my living child's purple shorts and we were late for school.

How do I explain that I am living the most normal of abnormal lives?

Do I tell her that my daughter, who was born almost exactly a year after my son was lost, told me today-apropos of nothing-that she really, really (really) loves me.

Do I tell her another mom from ballet class told me how smart my other son was and how proud that made me? Do I then tell her how she asked me if we would have more kids and I struggled for five minutes as to whether to tell her about the baby who I never got to watch grow up?

Do I tell her how, every day, I feel like the luckiest unlucky person who ever lived?

I'm not going to answer her question. I can't. There really aren't words.

Am I okay? No. And yes.

Is my baby okay? No. And yes.

Something tells me that might be more than she really wanted to know.

Because He's Happy

My baby boy turns one tomorrow.

You know how everyone is put on this earth for a purpose? Well, Sam's purpose seems to be to bring happiness wherever he goes.

Really, I can't remember a time since I knew of his existence that he has not brought a smile to my face, and there are very few times that he doesn't actually have a smile on his pudgy little face.

Our Sammy boy is sweet, sensitive and silly. He has a goofball grin that I wouldn't change for anything in the world. He is only now starting to stand up to his big sister and its hilarious to watch the two of them interact. Two minutes of sibling love usually results in ten of sibling screaming, but man are those two minutes good for the soul.

Sam is still a mama's boy- something that I know will change as his daddy, then his friends and eventually (horrors) girls come into play. For now, though, nobody fixes like Mama and I would be lying through my teeth if I said I didn't love it.

That belly laugh- not to mention that belly- are my favorite things on the planet. Sam continues to have more hair than most grown men (and some women) I know, and is currently on haircut number five. Unfortunately, one of the only times he cries is when he gets his hair cut.

Sammy currently has seven teeth (four on top and three on bottom) and tooth number 8 is thought to be responsible for several recent sleepless nights. Mama and tooth number 8 are on the outs.

When I think back over the past year, its such a blur, but its a happy blur. I got a little emotional thinking about this day last year- all of the anticipation and then the overwhelming joy this boy brought to our lives. Yes, this baby boy healed me in ways I didn't know I needed healing, but more importantly he brought his funny, quirky Samuel Haskell Harris self to the world and he made it a happier place. And if he can do that in just one year, I can't wait to see what he does next.

 Sam- bathroom selfie August 2014

Sam- bathroom selfie August 2015

Just a Place

Today I went back to the floor of the hospital where Rip was born for the first time in almost five years.

Its something I've wanted to do/ been dreading for that same amount of time.

When my dear, sweet friend had her baby girl unexpectedly and early a few weeks back, and was going to be at that same hospital while her precious babe learned to do all of the things she needs to do in order to get to go home, I couldn't wait to drop a meal by and give both of them a squeeze.

Unfortunately, my lovely mama friend is also no stranger to hospitals when it comes to her littles, and this was the very least I could do.

The visit had very little to do with me, but as it drew near the significance of what I was about to do did start weigh on me.

Every time I pass this building I feel something...part of me wants to run inside and part of me wants to run away.

This is the place I sat for nearly seven weeks of my life, unable to leave and practically unable to stand, completely dependent on others, waiting for my sweet boy to be born. The people inside became like family.

This is also the place where everything fell apart, quickly, the place where when I finally did leave it was in the dark of night chasing after an ambulance carrying my newborn son.

And then again, its just a place.

I walked into that building today to see my friend and felt- nothing. Well, nothing but gratitude to see her and the precious bundle of love that is her daughter.

I had to ask where the maternity floor was...I had to follow the signs to the elevator...I had to buzz into the maternity wing. I was just a visitor here.

I kept waiting to feel something, some whoosh of fear or anxiety or panic. But nothing came.

I was most nervous going into the level II nursery. Nervous to see where I once sat, where I once felt so completely unglued and afraid.

Today, I sat holding a perfect little girl, who made me laugh as she gave her mama the stink eye. A perfect little girl, who will be going home when she gets good and ready. I felt nothing but peace.

Today I needed to see for myself, five years later, that this hospital is no longer the place where the girl who was pregnant, or the girl who left in the dark of night, exist- those girls are both gone. Well, they have been transformed into a mother. A mother of three-one sassy little girl, one happy little boy, and one always perfect baby in heaven.

There is nothing left for any of us in that place. Turns out it is, after all, just a place.