Party for Five

Birthday parties for Kennedy are a big deal for me.  Since the very first one I have spent weeks trying to make sure that they are special and fun, and that my little girl can feel how very loved she is.  I dropped the ball the year she turned three; the year Jack died.  The problem was her birthday fell on Mother's Day and so I just couldn't rally. We had cake and sang to her with Sean's mom and my sister and nephews but that was it.  That was as good as it was going to get.  Silly as it may seem, and I know that some of you read that and think 'sounds like a party to me' and you're probably right. Maybe the real problem was that my heart wasn't in it at all and the guilt from that still eats at me.  I always pray she doesn't remember me like that; that she was just too little. 

And so here we are approaching five.  I simply cannot wrap my head and heart around that.  How can this be?  So when she started talking about her birthday more and more, as we went to party after party for the friends she's made over the years, I wanted to make sure I got it right. Five seems like a big deal.  They are real little kids at five.  Everything starts- school, sports, real friends that they've made outside of the social circles they were born into; all of it.  So we talk and talked and trough around ideas-many of which I deemed not “good enough” or she vetoed, and Sean all the while saying, "Just let her pick!"  While I had these grand ideas swirling in my mind, the little guy cooking has got me feeling pretty exhausted and it seemed like more than I could undertake-and heaping any extra stress on top seemed unwise.  And so one day when she mentioned that she misses hockey (since it's been a while and the new schedule conflicted with dance class-big catastrophe) we said how about ice skating?  She immediately said yes and we booked it.  

Invitations were made and sent into preschool, mailed to the others and plans were being made.  She wanted 'Shimmer and Shine' decorations and, God help me, I agreed, though if I'm being honest killed me a little.  As people responded she happily checked or crossed their names off, getting more and more excited.  

The days leading up to the party-the nights really-I would lay awake and worry was this a mistake? How many 4-5 years old can skate?! Am I going to have a "party" full of frustrated, crying kiddos, whose parents were going to be wondering, "What kind of idiot has an ice skating party for kids this age?!"  But Sean, the non-worrier of our duo was unconcerned.  

We are seriously into skirts and dresses right now-which for a rough and tumble kind of gal mean lots of exposed scrapes and bruises and knees that no matter how hard I scrub always seem to be grass stained and dirty.  But still she wanted to wear a skirt so that plus a 'Shimmer and Shine' tee, mix in whatever padded hockey gear I could convince on her and we had quite the birthday party ensemble. 

We arrived early to set up.  We tested our marriage attempting to untangle the twenty balloon I'd made an utter mess of stuffing into my car earlier.  But all was well and as the kids arrived, the look of pure happiness on my little girl's face made all of my neurotic worries melt away.  

Being worried about these kids being able to skate or enjoy themselves? Ridiculous.  I severely underestimated the determination that pumped through the veins of our little ones.  Some of them took to it like they were born on skates while others hung onto the buckets for dear life but the smiles-oh the smiles were there.  Kennedy skated from friend to friend encouraging them and telling them how good they were and my heart felt full.  Watching this little girl, so in her element, so confident but still so concerned for the people around her that she loves and cares about. Magic. 

When it was time to sing to her, as I looked around and saw how happy she was and how loved she is, I found myself pleading, "Dear God, please let us be here again in five years.  Please let my little boy get here and allow us to enjoy the years leading up to it-preparing him to sit where she sits, basking in the love everyone has for him."  

You see, I am a parent full of flaws, sometimes flailing through the day just trying to make it to bedtime.  But I have to allow myself, like that day, to stop and take in the fact that I've got to be doing something right to have this kid be who she is.  I mean, don't get me wrong there is still plenty of time for me to screw her up and for her to become a real jerk, but I really believe that that last 2 year have shaped Kennedy into the person she is.  She cares for others in a deep way that seems like she is years older than she is.  She interprets feeling and situations that most adults overlook. 

She is loved for sure but, oh, does she love.  She is the reason to have kept going.  She is the glue for a broken heart.  She is the strength to begin again.

So it was a success.  Her actual birthday is 8 days away-we count down every night and double check in the morning.  Five years ago I impatiently counted down the days until she'd be here imagining how much I'd love her when she arrived.  I had no clue. 

 

A Sigh of Relief

The days leading up to Easter were stressful.  I don't mean that in a I'm-saying-I-was-stressed-to-emphasize-how-busy-I-am kind of stressed. No. It was more of I'm so stressed I can't focus or sleep kind of stressed.  Not only were we hosting Easter dinner at our house, which now totals 17 with kids and spouses and long time girlfriends, but I had a lot going on at work too.  More than all of that though, I haven't felt Carter move at all and at eighteen weeks it was really starting to flip me out.

With both of my other two pregnancies I was feeling all the flutters, and with Jack-full on kicks by that point.  I wasn't saying anything much about it the last few weeks but full on panic set in.  I kept telling myself 'everything is fine, all the tests have come back great, this is different than last time' but I couldn't convince the fear building.  It didn't help that Kennedy, playing the day before, looked up at me and, in her she-can't-possibly-be-younger-than-twelve-way said, "I am so excited we are getting a baby! We have never got a baby that's didn't die before!" All I could choke out is, "I know, love."  And so, by the end of last week, I broke down and called the doctor and left a panicked message on my way to work.  She called back quickly but by then I was absolute hysterics to the point that I could barely form words and she thought the call was breaking up.  She told me I could come in a little later that morning and they would do an ultrasound for some reassurance.  I sat in my car and sobbed in the parking lot for a good ten minutes trying to get myself together before my friend pulled up and saw what a mess I was.  She stood with me and let me cry for a few more minutes before we made our way into work to face whatever the day brought.  

I left for my appointment, terrified does not even do what I was feeling justice.  Was I prepared for awful news? Was I ready for this to be over?  Sean was stuck on a meeting and didn't know if he'd make it there in time to meet me.  He didn't get to be there for the ultrasound and as I walked back my feet felt like that weighed a thousand pounds apiece.  The tech got me set up and there he was, moving around, clear as day.  And yet, I felt nothing.  As the tech talked to me and pointed a bunch of things out I was too distracted to take in, I wondered to myself  ‘Is my brain blocking this out? Preventing me from feeling anything?'  Two years ago I was struggling as it kept sending me signals or memories, that had me thinking I could still feel little kicks-the little kicks of Jack, so was it confused again, this time telling me that there's nothing happening?   I tuned back in just in time to here the tech say, "Yup, there's the placenta in the front, it's acting like a barrier or a pillow, muffling the feeling."  Just like that I could breathe again.  I wasn't crazy-or not as crazy as I'd just convinced myself I was. 

When I got out to the waiting room Sean was just flying through the door, a look of panic on his face.  But quickly I could tell he read my face and saw, all was fine.  We waited to see a doctor or nurse practitioner for a while, clearly seeing they had done some shuffling to squeeze me in.  We saw an NP who looked to be about twenty-four.  As she reiterated what the ultrasound tech had told me I started to cry. Sob, really.  She assured me by all accounts from everything they could see and tell this pregnancy was going great.  "I just can't make myself believe any of you, I want to, but I'm just so afraid, all of time," I choked out. What she said, as she hugged me-clearly getting overwhelmed by my emotional display, finally settled me.  "You're doing the best you can, and that's enough," she gently reassured me.  

After that ordeal I was able to collect myself and finish out the week, buying Easter basket stuffings for all of the kiddos, buy the food, finish up a hellish-week-before-a-break school week, and dye the eggs.  Saturday came we watched April the giraffe give birth, Kennedy completely enamored, asking all kinds of awkward questions, and subsequently having all of her toy animals have babies.  With my parents entertaining Kennedy for most of the day, I set the tables, did as much prep as I could, stuffed baskets, and just about collapsed into bed that night.  

When Sunday rolled around we were ready to do all things holiday.  Kennedy was up and out of bed and all eighteen eggs found within 10 minutes.  She sorted through her basket-giving the Bunny her stamp of approval (trust me, these days that is hard to come by).  We showered, dressed up for the eighty-degree day and made our way to Jack.  

I don't know why, but sunny days at a cemetery seem harder than rainy ones.  It's like the feelings don't match the weather.  So as the sun shone brightly my girl "hugged" her brother and told him she found his egg with his name on it for him.  As I watched her, Sean took a picture of me.  Kennedy was in it, Jack’s headstone and my big ole belly. My kids: in all three stages of life. 

We were all together, or as together as we could be.  As we drove home to wait for company, Kennedy said in a quiet voice, "I really hope Carter doesn't die like Jack did, don't you Mommy?"  Again, my voice caught in my throat, I worked up the nerve to say to her, "it's going to be different this time, sweet girl," praying that God was listening to me still and could make it so.  

So, the family came, the fun was had, the food was eaten, the laughs were laughed, eyes were rolled, and we took in the rare time when we were all together.  

And this week?  This week is for resting. For catching my breath that had been held too long.  For a sigh of relief.  This week is for outside days and all the chalk we can stand.  But these treasure chests where you "dig" for treasure from Target? The devil. (As evidenced by the chalked smeared on my porch, driveway, and several outfits)

Somewhere Over the Rainbow

It is rare that I can't find the words to explain something but these last few weeks I have found myself grasping at the right ones to explain how I am feeling.  I left you a with a bit of news last post and then nothing.  I have been processing it all for the last sixteen weeks and while I'm not entirely sure I will get this all right, I will try.

We are having a baby.  Somehow over the last two years of heartbreak, devastation, and putting some of the pieces back together again, Sean and I found the courage in each other and ourselves to venture down this road again. We are having another baby.

A rainbow baby.  It's what they call this pregnancy; the baby that comes after a loss.

To say it is overwhelming is a tremendous understatement.  I am feeling all the feels that there are.  I am happy, heartbroken, excited and absolutely terrified with every fiber of my being.  I try to tune any of the negative out but the truth is life experience is what guides feelings and our experience has not been easy or simple so to expect this pregnancy to be otherwise is somewhat unrealistic.  But I try to make sure that happy is the feeling that wins out at the end of every day.

We had talked about not telling Kennedy until she'd start asking questions.  Originally I said I wanted to wait as long as we possibly could to tell anyone, this belly didn't allow for keeping a secret too long. I guess by the third kiddo, your body figures this is old hat and just goes with it. Sean and I both agreed that we didn't want anyone to know before we told Kennedy-it didn't seem right to either of us.  And so as we were driving in the car one night I asked, "Hey Tallulah, what do you always tell us you want to get, like the kids in your school always talk about?"  She quickly answered, " A baby!"  We told her we were going to have a baby right around when she starts kindergarten.  Her quick follow up was, "A boy baby or a girl baby?"  Since at that point we already knew because of the genetic testing we had decided to do I was able to tell her. "We're going to have a baby boy!"  She was excited and I felt a sense of relief.  It was short lived though as she said,  "Can we call him Jack?!"  It was like a punch in the gut. Truly.  It took me a minute to get my breath and choke back the tears.  I managed to squeak out, "No baby, we can't call him Jack, we have a Jack, but we'll figure out a good name for this baby that will be his own." And as long as I draw breath I will remember the sound of her little voice as she started to cry, "But I really want a brother Jack." To that I could not respond, only hold my breath so I didn't let out the building sob.  Sean, ever my wingman was ready with, "You have a brother Jack." She thought for a quiet second and said, " Yeah! And you know what? Jack is going to be a big brudda and I'm going to be another big sister and I think we should name him Donald!" After clarifying that she meant the duck and not the Trump-we told her we'd think it over, we made our way over to my parents to share the news.  We were through the door all of two minutes when Kennedy blurted, "Guess what? Since baby Jack died, we're getting a new baby!"  Another gut-punch but my mom took it in stride.

Our families and friends are thrilled, and while they haven't said it, I'm not sure they thought we'd ever give this another go. I have a strict rule of not too much emotion-I'm dealing with a lot of my own and can't handle too much more than that. 

I want to enjoy this pregnancy; every single day.   I wished Jack's to be over so many times because I couldn't handle the bad news that just seemed to keep coming-never knowing it would be over all too soon and he would be gone. So, though I have felt sick most of the day for the last sixteen weeks, I am trying to embrace it all and accept that we have gotten only good news, things are looking good, progressing as they should, and that everything is going fine.

I am trying my damnedest to fight off feelings of guilt but, truth be told, they are there, waiting in the shadows when I think about the boy that came before this one. 

But, as my wise little girl told us, Jack is going to be a big brother.  And though his role will look a little different than their sister's, he will watch over his siblings and protect them in a way that even their dad and I can't. 

Carter Fitzgerald Doyle will be a very lucky, very loved, and very welcomed rainbow in our world.