Fear and Facebook

Like most people I know, I have a love/hate relationship with Facebook. Sometimes, though, mine is more of a love/fear relationship.

More and more, I see stories of children who are sick or dying showing up on my feed. There are desperate pleas from family members to pray, pray, pray for these precious little people. I don't blame them one single bit- had I the presence of mind to do so at the time, Rip's story would have been broadcast over social media site imaginable. Your child is in trouble and you reach out to every conceivable source for help.

The thing is, I click on every single story I see about these babies. And I know what I'm doing, deep down I'm thinking that if I read them, if I pray for them, I can somehow stop whatever scary thing it might be from happening to us. Its selfish. And, of all people, I know this is not true. I read every single thing I could get my hands on about vasa previa and premature babies when I got my diagnosis with Rip. In the end, I couldn't stop what happened.

I truly believe in a sovereign God, a God who does not make mistakes, but somehow that doesn't stop me from being so very afraid. I look at Gracie, or feel Sam kick, and then I read something about another child- and with Facebook, it is often someone I know through a few degrees of separation- and it all seems so out of control.

And I know, its FACEBOOK, for heaven's sakes- its not like someone is forcing me to be there. But I can't quite convince myself to stay away.

I'm not sure that there is much of a point to this post, more just cathartic writing on my part. In the end, I know that I don't want to pass along a legacy of fear to my children. I know that I need to start seeing things for what they are, to live outside of me head. I know there are parents out there who need prayers right now, and not in some imagined future. And I know neither fear nor Facebook is where I need to be looking for answers.

All things bright and beautiful

I knew I wasn't going to be good at this weekly pregnancy update thing.

Oh well. Monthly works, too.

Sweet Sam is now 25 weeks! Which, as any pregnant woman knows, is a big deal. 24 weeks marks the "viability" point...I don't want to see a hair on the kid's cute head before 38 weeks, but making it past 24 weeks still feels like an accomplishment.

Also, I say "sweet" Sam, but I am beginning to have my doubts. You know a while back, when I said this was my calm, relaxed baby? Turns out I have an anterior placenta, which was cushioning most of those early movements. My easy-going babe has transitioned into a stealthy ninja, delivering mighty blows to the bladder in the dark of night. Don't get me wrong, I love every single movement this kid makes...its just my visions of a calm baby sitting wide-eyed in my lap while his sister runs around us in circles is beginning to fade a bit.

As for pregnancy symptoms, I am now officially in the honeymoon stage of pregnancy- past the green, greasy mess of the first trimester (and a half) and not yet the swollen, emotional mess I  will inevitably become. I am trying to get in a walk most days, loving the warm weather and maxi dresses it affords me, and generally eating everything in sight. I've heard that sometimes nausea returns in the last trimester, so I feel I should really try to stock up on my food intake just in case. I mean, that's never happened to me before, but better safe than sorry, right?

Latest cravings- ice cream and popsicles. Trader Joes has these Caribbean fruit popsicles that are almost as good a having a pina colada. Almost.

Also loving, the BEACH. We pretty much live out there on the weekends and it is the perfect free entertainment for Miss Priss. Gracie wears herself out screaming and running from waves, while Big Mama sits her fanny in a chair and makes countless drip castles. Perfection.

All things bright and beautiful is the phrase that keeps running through my head. This is just a sweet time in our lives, and I am beyond thankful for it. Good times tend to make me nervous, but I am very un-Anne-like calm these days, another thing that I am beyond thankful for.

Without further ado, here I am, being all calm. Full disclosure, this picture makes me look better and smaller than I do in real life. This was not an accident.

Happy 25 weeks, Sammy-Boy! 

Babies don't keep

The cleaning and scrubbing will wait till tomorrow,

For children grow up, as I’ve learned to my sorrow.

So quiet down, cobwebs. Dust go to sleep.

I’m rocking my baby and babies don’t keep.

I was laughing with a friend this morning about the time (s) I crawled into Gracie's crib with her when she was smaller. At 3:00 am when you desperately need sleep, it seemed like the only logical thing to do...and probably went against every parenting book in the history of parenting books.

Do I regret it? Not at all.

When I gave birth to Gracie, I (like most people) had NO CLUE what to expect. In my case, I was in disbelief that I actually got bring this living, breathing creature into my home. I spent the first three months of her life trying to do everything "right". We were both pretty miserable.

I tried not to hold her when she slept...she screamed and I cried. I held her when she slept...and instead of enjoying it, I felt guilty because that isn't what you are "supposed" to do, right? I did a million things that, in hindsight, went against my better judgement because I was so afraid of getting it wrong.

After about three months, I gave up. I held my baby-a lot. I rocked her to sleep every night (and still do when she lets me). Sometimes, I crawled into bed with her. Sometimes, I let her crawl into bed with me. I carried (carry) her after she could walk. I loved doing those things.

Because this time in our lives is going really, really quickly. My tall two year old no longer expects me to crawl into bed with her- and in fact shouts "MY ROOM!" half the time Parke and I even dare to cross the threshold. She wants to hold my hand more than she wants to be carried. She wants to feed herself, dress herself- she wants to be herself. That's what should happen when you grow up. I can't for the life of me remember what I was so afraid of those first three months- that I would be rocking her to bed when she was thirty? I wish! (Kidding...kind of.)

I love this age with Gracie, she is my best little friend. We laugh, we tell jokes...she gets sent to time out ten times a day. I don't exactly wish she was a baby again, but I do think of all the days and nights  I've spent with her on my chest and I am thankful for every one of them.

As for Sam, I hope I remember the lesson of "the first three months" and spare us both the misery of doing it "right". After all, babies don't keep.

All That I Need To Know...

Remember the old poster that used to be everywhere? "All That I Need to Know, I Learned in Kindergarten"?

I feel I should now make a poster for myself, entitled "All That I'd Forgotten, I Re-learned from my Daughter"...a small sampling of things my two year-old has (re) taught me:

1. If you are going somewhere, no matter where that is, be so enthusiastic about it that you RUN to get there

2. Tell yourself that you are pretty everyday (twirling like a princess optional).

3. If you are sad, cry. If you are angry, yell. If you are happy, laugh.

4. Remind everyone in your family to give you a kiss before they leave. Its important.

5. Eating is fun- treat yourself.

6. Holidays are fun- celebrate them.

7. If you hear music, dance. It doesn't matter if you are good at it, just do it.

8. If someone is being mean, call them out on it. Also, be quick to forgive.

9. Go outside as much as possible. It makes you feel good.

10. All you really need to be happy is a snack, some juice, and sunshine.

11. If someone makes your heart happy, go give them a huge hug right that very minute.

I pray that she stays this way for as long as humanly possible, and then I pray she has a little girl of her own to remind her how to live all over again.

Real

“Real isn't how you are made,' said the Skin Horse. 'It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real.'

'Does it hurt?' asked the Rabbit.

'Sometimes,' said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. 'When you are Real you don't mind being hurt.'

'Does it happen all at once, like being wound up,' he asked, 'or bit by bit?'

'It doesn't happen all at once,' said the Skin Horse. 'You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand.”
― Margery Williams, The Velveteen Rabbit

Being pregnant tends to make me think and feel "more". I wake up at night and have all of these thoughts swirling through my head.

After we lost Rip, and I got pregnant with Gracie, people would say some variation of "You have no idea what's coming!" in a, having a new baby is SO hard, kind of way. You know what? They were right. I was totally unprepared for the late nights and utter exhaustion and how hard breastfeeding was going to be. You can't prepare for that.

But, I knew what is was like NOT to have all of that. And that was harder, much harder. So the comments stung a little.

Now that I am pregnant with Sam, people like to tell me how much harder life will be with two. This time, I KNOW they are right. The thought of taking two children in and out of car seats every.single.time. I want to go somewhere scares the bejesus out of me.

But, I already have two kids. And not having one of them seems a lot harder than anything else we will face.

I feel myself start to have a weird panicky feeling when friends say they may try for three kids. I can't quite figure out why...Yes, I always wanted three. Two boys and a girl, in fact...exactly what I got. Of course this isn't really what I wanted, but I know almost every single person who has dealt with loss of any kind, or infertility, would tell you that "you can't always get what you want". In truth, I feel extremely lucky to be as blessed as I am.

Which brings me to being "real". In real life, especially by the time you reach your thirties, almost everyone has been through something... an all caps SOMETHING. Some seemingly more that their fair share. Everybody has experienced something that has made them a little shabby, a little more real.

Rip is my SOMETHING. He is something that changed me in infinite ways.

Rip is real. I sat in a hospital bed for six weeks, have a scar on my belly, and can feel the weight of him in my arms. Rip is real and he made me real.

So its hard not to feel something (another something) when I don't feel his presence acknowledged. But the truth of the matter is, I know I don't pay nearly enough attention to anyone else's SOMETHINGS.

The same people who may give me advice on one, two, or three children may be the same ones who suffered through years or infertility or miscarriages while I laugh about how easily I get pregnant. Or the ones who lost a parent when I talk about how glad I am to have mine. Everyone has something that stings. And we can't all go around tiptoeing over everything that comes out of our mouths. 

So I guess the part I work on, and struggle with, is how to be "real" without the anger, or resentment, or hurt feelings. The real me learned most of what I know to be true, and important, from a little boy who is no longer living on this earth. That little boy has nothing to do with negative emotions, there is nothing ugly about him. I don't want there to be anything ugly about me either.

But how do I do that? I guess it does take time. This becoming real is hard work. Taking your SOMETHING and turning it into the right thing, its really hard. But in the end- if we can do it- all of us, with our sagging joints and loved off hair, turn into something so real that we can't be ugly anymore.

Halfway Home

20 weeks...halfway there, or a little more than, due to c-section scheduling!

So, I knew I wasn't going to be great at that whole weekly posting thing, but I am making an effort to at least document some of this pregnancy, which seems to be going by at lighting speed.

First of all, we have a name! This little boy will be named Samuel Haskell Harris. The name Samuel means "asked of God." Very fitting and true, and also I couldn't find a name that meant "begged and pleaded with God". As with Grace, I felt this baby should be named to reflect what a blessing he truly is.

I am a big believer that you can tell a lot about a baby's personality in utero. Rip was pretty chill. Gracie...was not. That child kicked me from the day she was strong enough to do so, and sometimes does it to this day (we are working on that). Mr. Sam is the definition of laid back. He kicks, but even when he moves they are fairly lazy movements. I just get this kind of calm vibe with him...you can remind me of that we he is screaming bloody murder at 2am in a few months. That said, I do think this baby boy is going to be on the mellow side compared to his big sis (she says hopefully).

As for Big Sis, she seems to have grasped the fact that Baby Sam is in Mama's tummy. Previously, she thought he was in an airplane...we are not sure what happened there. She is still a little confused though, and spends a lot of time digging into my belly button and shouting, "HELLOOOO, SAM, WATE (wake) UP!!!" Hopefully, Baby Sam will learn to tune her out early on.

I am huge. I am not just saying that. I am at least as big as I was with Gracie as 6.5 months. And its not all concentrated to my stomach, its kind of like I am melting, out and down. Attractive. That said, I am happy. I enjoy being pregnant and I am trying to remember if this is our last time that I want to remember it as a joyful one. This is easier to do now that I don't feel like I am going to upchuck every time I take a bite of something.

We go next week for our anatomy scan. I'm not going to lie, that scares me. As much as I try not to let fear get the best of me this time around, it has been my experience that once they go looking for something they usually find it. Please say a prayer that Sam continues to be my drama-free baby.

Cravings still include mostly salt, but sweets are making a comeback just in time for some Easter candy (by far the best holiday candy, in my opinion). I am in the weird stage between PREGNANT and pregnant? Meaning nothing really fits and I swear I will be having a party to burn my maternity leggings when it FINALLY warms up around here.

All joking aside, sometimes I remember we are having a baby this summer and I am almost overcome with excitement. Yes, the fear is always not too far away, it is something I have to consciously keep at bay. I know there are no guarantees here. But this baby boy and I have made it halfway home, and that's something to celebrate.

Its a....

Sweet Healthy Baby!!

Who also happens to be a boy!

This is a happy, happy day.