Goodbye Little Bean

It's been weeks since we saw our little bean and heard his beating heart. Aside from a little morning sickness, exhaustion, aversion to my prenatals, and the flu everything has been relatively normal.

I, however, haven't felt normal or excited or happy. Not like I did in those first weeks of pregnancy before it all got stressful and complicated. I had mourned the loss of my little bean and had a hard time recovering. I just didn't feel right.

It feels awful to call that feeling intuition. No one wants to believe the bad feelings (unease, if you will) they've been having will prove to be correct. I don't want to believe it.

However, my little bean is gone and my body has betrayed me. After much bleeding and contraction-like pains, we went to the emergency room.

They told us that baby was gone.

They told us my uterus was empty.

I still don't understand it.

Knowing the "miscarriage" is a common occurrence doesn't make it less of a shock.

At the hospital and for several days after, I was OK. I expected this...blah, blah. Now I'm not as OK. Now I'm longing to see another picture of my little bean and hear that beautiful heartbeat. The picture hanging on the fridge is the only one we will ever have.

So, "Goodbye my little bean. We love you."

Little Bean: Part 6

This morning we went back to the doctor. After a week of waiting, bad news, no news, mourning, and more waiting we're here for answers. We expect for them to tell us that our little bean is gone. We'll never see him or hear his voice. It's funny (funny strange, not funny haha) how knowing you're pregnant for a few weeks can have such a profound impact on you. This baby is yours and generally loved despite how excited or terrified you are about the pregnancy.

In the ultrasound room we wait and hold hands as the tech peruses my uterus. The thing she says, when she finally speaks blows us away. She sees baby and a heartbeat. Then she lets us hear it. It is strong and clear, like it's always been that way. It is beautiful. We are amazed. We are overcome.

The nurses hear little bean's heartbeat and are overjoyed for us. Everyone is so kind. I am just shocked. I am relieved to be able to give my family good news after weeks of telling them we have no answers. Today, we have an answer. Little bean is alive and growing.

Today I am pregnant and I love my baby.

Little Bean: Part 5

Yesterday we got the call with less than good news. The call I've been expecting for weeks.

Last night we actually had a decent conversation about how much our situation sucks.

This morning, first thing, we fought about laundry. Of all things to fight about it get emotional about, it was laundry. My husband went outside to be productive (READ: avoid me).

Why is it when emotions run high and we are feeling vulnerable, we allow it to tear us apart instead of bringing us together? Sometimes I feel like we stuck at marriage...or I do. I guess it depends on the day. But reaching out making your self vulnerable is hard. Relationships are hard.

I'm hoping we find our way through this. We usually do. Fingers crossed for a better tomorrow.

Little Bean: Part 4

I waited for the doctor to call most of the morning. As time passed I went from concerned to downright stressed.

When I got the call, the news wasn't good. My hormone levels had been rising normally for the past few weeks, despite my pain and bleeding. Today, that wasn't the case.

After I got vague answers from the doctor, I had to call my husband at work. I relayed the message and then we were quiet. What do you say to each other when your heart is breaking over the loss of your little one (whom you've never met)? There aren't words to bridge that gap.

A while later, I reached out to a friend. Her response? "Damnit! I hate this for you." Her anger on my behalf, as well as the fact that her words conveyed solidarity instead of pity helped my heart a little.

A heart that's hurting needs that. Feeling alone in this is hard. While there are many people I could reach out to, they all have feelings about the little bean. They too are emotionally invested. Seeking healing for my heart will hurt theirs. I'm not ready to do that until I have confirmed answers.

Is my little bean alive and well? Will we lose him? Today we don't know. We wait.

Little Bean: Part 3

We were hoping for some answers this morning. For a week we've been looking forward to these precious moments where we get to see our little bean and watch the heart rate flicker on the screen.

We didn't get what we were hoping for. No baby. No tiny heart beat. No answers.

"Wait a week," they say. "It may be too early." But I know what we should have seen on the screen and laugh as the doctor tells us not to panic...yet.

Little Bean: Part 2

Today, it was just a normal day. I was out running some errands with my wood thing, when I suddenly knew something was wrong. By the time we got home I was bleeding and panicking.

The doctor had no answers to my frank question. She didn't know what was wrong or if my growing baby was OK. I wanted answers; instead I got bed rest, blood tests, and an ultrasound scheduled in a week. (Can you imagine bed rest with a 35 lb wild thing at home? Not likely to occur.)

This isn't how it's supposed to be. You get pregnant and enjoy/suffer through those early symptoms. Then you have a doctor's appointment and hear your baby's heart beat.

I may never see my little bean or hear his little heart beat.

Little Bean: Part 1

That very faint line on the stick keeps getting darker. Can it actually be true? Are we expecting another little one?

We spent several days waiting and examining lines before I ended up at the doctor with some minor complications. This pregnancy is not starting out like any of my others, but we are emotional and excited (terrified?) about some new little person joining our family.

Fingers crossed for the little bean.

It Begins

It's been a while since I've written here. I've been busy and haven't felt the need to write about our crazy life. These last few weeks life has forced me to slow down and given me a story to tell. Not to have other people to read it or understand, but to have a place to vent or process. This is a place to express my feelings, worries, and struggles. Unlike "real" life, I don't have to worry about the feelings of others before I speak or try to protect them from reality because it hurts them.

So, I'm rambling. I'm telling a story for me. I'm telling a story for my emotional well-being.

Update: For those of you reading, this isn't the happy ending we were hoping for. This isn't worthy of congratulations or pity. This is just our life. I'm just hugging my wild thing a little tighter than ever before.

Gentle Parenting Fail

I just read an article about mommy anger, frustration, and losing your cool. The struggle is real, my friends. I know someone else wrote about it well, I feel the need to share. This is like my own personal confession of my AP/gentle parenting failure. It happens to so many of us. And what's worse? We're not supposed to talk about it.

I experienced it last night while shopping with my wild thing and mom. He started biting me and I ended up flicking him in his little cheek each time he escalated the biting because he didn't get the result he wanted (me to put him down). Neither of us was hurt by the biting or flicking; just angry. I hate when I respond this way. It's usually lack of resources; being hungry and tired gets the better of both of us.

Then I realized how I was acting. Yes, how I was acting, not him. He's one. It's normal for him to lash out when he doesn't get what he's asking for. I, on the other hand, am supposed to be a mature adult. I am supposed to be the one who helps him regulate all of these big emotions. People were watching our interaction and I was not modeling gentle parenting or helping him calm down.

I took a deep breath, sat him on the floor, and talked about being gentle with each other (Yes, both of us need to be gentle and I use this as my apology for acting inappropriately). Then we both modeled gentle touches. When he shows me gentle touches he rubs me gently and says, "Nice." (It's cute, and helps me when I was ready to lose my ish with him a few seconds before). The whole interaction took less than a minute and it was over.

Gentle parenting win. At least until the next time toddlerhood meets tired, hungry, stressed mommy. Hopefully I'll do better next time. That's all I can hope for; to constantly improve my interactions with him and others.

Nursing vs. Weaning

I'm a nursing mama. My eighteen-month-old is an avid nurser. I've begun to wonder about the nature of our nursing relationship. It's strong and healthy. But, how long will it last? Longevity was not something I strove for when I began this journey a year and a half ago. Sheesh.

I'm not sure what began my pondering.
-- Maybe it was the woman in the Montana dinner who sneered at me from behind her Elton John glasses and shook her head with disapproval, while whispering to her tablemates.
-- Maybe it was my family beginning to question me as my wild thing neared a year old, then continuing to make sarcastic "subtle" comments.
-- Maybe it was my pediatrician who said he supported my decision, but warned me about the social pressure I would face.
-- Maybe it was me who wanted my body to myself (as my little guy did downward dog while nursing) or longed for a full night of sleep. 

Though I can't pinpoint when, the fact is I've begun wondering. When is the right time? Mine, his, society's? There are times I want it to be in my time. I want to be in control. I'm bigger, older, and used to getting my way when it comes to my body. But I wonder about my wild thing. What am I teaching him if I force him to give up something he loves (sometimes the only comfort he has)?
  Am I teaching him that his feelings mean nothing?
    Am I teaching him that I am attuned to his needs?
In answer to these questions, I'd have to say I wouldn't be the kind of mom I work so hard to be. Nursing or not, I want to be the mom who raises a little boy who: knows he's important to me, knows I listen and try to understand, has the confidence to explore and learn and trust. (Whoa! That's a big one...trust. Trust others to care and meet his needs. Trust himself.)

Nursing will go on until it's our time to wean. When is that? When he's ready, we're ready. When he can understand boundaries and is able to self-soothe, I may feel comfortable nudging him in that direction. Despite all of the tricks I've read about for gentle nursing, I know he's not ready for that. He can't grasp that we only nurse when the sun is out and he certainly doesn't understand when I tell him he can't nurse. It's heartbreaking for him. That's when his big emotions take over and he can't cope. That's when he needs me to comfort him, not turn him away.

To toddlerhood.

I love when my wild thing stirs in his sleep and stretches. His little toes spread out on the ends of his chubby feet.

I love when I've gone somewhere and he sees me come through the door or walking across the room. He gasps, smiles, and says, "Mama." My cowboy did that every time I got him from daycare.

I love when he says a new word or fits in a puzzle piece and yells, "Did it!" He's so proud of his accomplishments and wants us to be too.

I love when my wild thing lays down at night and, sometimes, I get 3 hours of freedom before he needs me.

I love that he wakes up and asks for me (even when I'm in the middle of something and I want hubs to handle it). It makes me smile.

It's the little things, in this time of exploration, volatile emotions, self-assertion, and expanding vocabulary. If there wasn't joy in small moments or accomplishments, these days would be overwhelming indeed.

To toddlerhood. You're bittersweet.

Accidents?

Recently, various home and vehicle safety items have been arriving in the mail. Knowing that I have ordered these items, and wanting to be gentle with me, my husband asks, "What are you suddenly afraid of?" My answer? "Life. I'm afraid of life." I'm not even sure how to articulate my fear, except to say the world is a scary, unpredictable place. Generally, my struggle with fear runs on the back burner of my mind at a low simmer. Lately, however, it's almost all I can think about.

The internet reveals dangers on a daily basis.
Child dies of secondary drowning.
Child is strangled by minivan seat belt.
Child dies of hyperthermia when left in the car by parent.
Vaccine deaths.
Measles outbreak.
Whooping cough outbreak.

HOW CAN I PROTECT MY CHILD FROM DANGER? I'm sorry, I'm yelling. I'm out of control with worry.

If I watch my child like a hawk and take precautions will God keep him healthy, safe, and alive? Not necessarily.

Things happen..."accidents" happen.
Is leaving your child alone in the car after forgetting to drop them at daycare an accident?
Is ignoring your child as he wanders into the backyard and falls into the pool an accident?
Is your child falling out the second-story window an accident?

Here's my answer. "No!"

Only I can protect my child and, even then, there are no guarantees. Only you can protect your child. I feel like Smokey the Bear here. ("Only you can prevent forest fires.")

"How can I live like this?" you ask. I don't. Most of the time. Sometimes, like now, it gets the better of me. My need to save my child is so strong that I find myself ordering seat belt cutters, window locks, second-story window ladders, etc., etc. I worry that I will be the one to neglect my child in the moment that matters; in the moment that saves his life. I worry that something else will happen, outside of my control (as with my cowboy), and I will lose him. I will lose my baby again. I'm not sure I could live with that.

Hours upon hours.

Today I was away from my wild thing for four hours. FOUR hours. It seems like nothing. He goes to daycare for this many hours a few times each week. I always go check on him, cuddle, nurse, or visit for a little bit each day. Today, I didn't. Today, I trusted his teachers. Trusted that they would call me if he needed to nurse. They didn't call. My wild thing ate a ton of food...I mean, a ton for him. And nursed as soon as I got there, a ravenous little beast. Now he's crashed in the backseat cozy, with me. We survived. We came back together, like always.

I love my wild thing and miss him like the dickens when we're apart. I also have school work, research responsibilities, and a thesis to write. Today, four hours. Tomorrow, a thesis.

Gripped by Fear

Today I was
gripped by fear
after reading
the story of
a little boy
who
chased a frisbee
into the street
and
was hit
by a truck
and
killed.
Not
my baby.
Not
today.
It could be;
any day,
any time.

My One-Year-Old Boys

When my cowboy turned one, we had a party. He swam with his daddy. He ate a little green birthday cake.
He was
walking,
talking,
skinny,
social,
sleeping through the night,
napping alone,
spending the night at Grammie's,
riding horses,
and,
most important,
happy and loved.

My wild thing turned one, and we had a party. He threw up on me multiple times and went to urgent care. He played balls with his daddy. He destroyed a little green birthday cake (though the color was coincidence).
He is
crawling,
cruising,
talking,
social,
shy when mommy's not around,
nursing through the night,
napping with mommy,
chubby,
exploratory,
and,
most important,
happy and loved.

My wild thing is not my cowboy. They are different and alike. They are both occupying my heart. They are loved. I read a quote the other day that had the dsfinition of a mother. It said she will hold you in her heart until her last breath. I read it as, "...until your last breath." And thought it was a vast underestimation. She will remember you so far beyond that. It made me sad because I know things about mothering that many don't. I know that this birthday, this day, is worth remembering. You could have thousands of todays together or this one could be the last.

Run-down Mama

I'm a garbage disposal lately. You want to nurse and don't want food. Since you've been sick it's nurse, nurse, nurse. I keep offering you food, but you only take a few bites then refuse. My body is struggling to keep up with the demands. Food and sleep is what I want. Lots of sleep.

I'm incoherent and unresponsive lately. Daddy asks if I'm doing alright; if I'm depressed. "Just tired," I say and stare at the tv, computer, or you playing. I'm more than tired though. I'm exhausted to the core. You, my wild thing, require so much of me. I'm being pulled in different directions. School, work (insignificant as it is), future plans, you, daddy, and everyone else. It's all good. It just gets so big in my head.

This time. These struggles. It will pass. I'd rather be mommy, than not have you with me. Not having you would be worse. I know this because, when I lost my cowboy, I've had emptiness. I was lost. I was without purpose. Having you is better. Having both of you, my sons, would be sweet, fulfilled exhaustion. Not harder or easier; just more right.

"Ow! That hurts!"

"Ow! That hurts," I say, "That hurts mommy. Biting makes me sad."

You smile and laugh. It feels good to bite, especially when you're teething. And you get a reaction from me.

I want to cry or scream. I don't.  Sometimes I get loud. A few times, I've thumped your little cheek. We both hate that. It hurts my heart when I'm startled and react that way.

Most of the time I repeat the same thing over again. I hope you learn to understand before you bite off a piece of me. You are so small and don't get my facial expressions or words. You're starting to. Now when you hit or fall or bite, you say, "Ow!" You're learning the words. Understanding will come later.

Please let me have patience and not overreact. I don't want to hurt you. Not in anger. Not in reflex. This phase will end before long. We'll get through it together.

In Weakness

Fevers and sickness make a needy baby. Work and school and remodeling and prepping for a first birthday party make a tired, indecisive mommy. When I feel this way, I walk in circles wearing or holding my needy baby and getting nothing done. Ugh! I hate this version of me, who gets so weak and useless. I don't always know why it happens. I can just tell that I'm not myself. It's exhausting to try figuring it out amidst my busy life. It's even worse when other people, who know me, are around because I'm the one who normally has it together. I don't know how I became the organized and in control woman. I do feel her slipping away since I've become a mommy again. So many emotions were locked up tight and controlling my life was how I functioned. That is not how things have worked for the last year. I've given up all control of my emotions and my schedule in order to meet the needs of my wild thing. It works for us and he is happy. It doesn't always work for the woman I knew myself to be.

In my befuddled, needy baby state my family came alongside me to help finish projects and get the party ready. It was beautiful (the party and the effort). This is what my family used to be like. We have been broken for a long time. Losing my cowboy didn't just break me, but my whole family. People changed and relationships were damaged. We still loved, but grieved and healed alone.

First Birthdays

I keep reading
that first steps
and first birthdays
turn a baby
into a toddler.
My one-year-old
is still a baby;
my baby.
He cuddles,
crawls,
cruises,
climbs stairs,
nurses,
eats people food,
laughs,
cries.
He loves
balls,
animals,
outside,
Bubble Guppies,
mama,
daddy.
He's had
two haircuts,
seven teeth,
and one birthday.
I don't care
if he's thirty
and thriving.
He's always,
in part,
my baby.

Big, Sweet Baby

Lie down with me,
sweet baby.
Come nurse
right by my side.

Mama,
I'd rather
headstand,
flip flop,
crawl around,
dive bomb,
somersault,
sit up,
do the splits,
and stand up
while I nurse.

I know, but
it's time to sleep.
So, lie down with me,
my big, sweet baby.
Come nurse
right by my side.
I'll stroke you gently
and shush you softly.
As you sleep
right by my side.