Bottling Summer

There is something about a summer vacation that is so magical you want to bottle up all of the feelings and sprinkle them as needed throughout the rest of the year.  There is a sense of relaxation of getting away from life for a bit and living solely for the week or two ahead of you.  The Doyles had that kind of week this past seven days on Martha’s Vineyard.  My best friend Jen and I had gone for a weekend three years ago for her bachelorette party.  I can remember taking an early morning walk and saying how great it would be to come back the next year together with our families.  By then I knew Sean and I were planning on our second baby, and I said I’d go with a little baby and Jen knew her and her new husband wanted to start a family and could possibly be expecting, but she said she’d go if she was pregnant.  It all sounded so perfect-we’d make a yearly thing out of it we’d said.  Well a lot of life happened and we hadn’t made it back there until last week and it looked a bit different than we’d planned on.  Jen and her husband Andrew were there with their first baby, Oliver, about to turn one, and Sean and I there with just Kennedy and expecting our third baby.  Things did not turn out as we’d thought but the result was still something I think we’d both pictured that morning. 

Sean and I had another vacation at the end of August booked- a beach house near Myrtle Beach with a bunch of my family and all of our kids.  We were trying to get pregnant for a while and we had said we’d just time it so it wouldn’t effect the trip- either we’d go with a new baby or we’d be expecting one in a few months.  Again, things did not turn out as we’d planned (you’d think I’d have learned by now).  A big, huge, gorgeous house, right on the beach.  Sean has been the one organizing it, making the plans, etc.  Then suddenly I’m pregnant and guess who can’t go?  Sean and Kennedy will still go down and spend a few days enjoying the place with everyone but this mama was benched and put on the no fly list.  So, I, being such a good sport, whined one night and said, “I need a vacation before this baby comes! We have to go somewhere I can go too!”  I talked to Jen, we made the plans, did our research and we booked a house back in February; scheduled our car on the ferry to cart all of the things that go with the children.  Then we waited.  As the year dragged on, and the stress of a baby after a loss piled on, I really couldn’t have waited to go much longer. 

We packed and planned, buying plenty of rainy day activities to keep Kennedy’s restless nature at bay should the weather not cooperate.  We had several jaunts down to Long Island the weekends prior for family parties, engagements and graduations, and so the suitcases had become a permanent fixture in our bedrooms.  After a quick strawberry pick and jam-fest with my mom, sister and nephews, we finally had arrived at our departure day.  Being that it was the weekend before the Fourth of July we were anticipating some pretty gruesome traffic, but the travel gods showed us some favor that day and we made it there in plenty of time.  We packed in Jen’s family’s belongings and made our way onto the ferry and, almost instantly, the stress melted away.  Well most of it anyway. 

The house was sweet.  Nothing fancy, but exactly what two families with kids needed for a week.  Well, aside from the fact that there was a lot of “natural light” in the bedrooms, which encouraged some very early wakeups from the kids every morning.  After that the days were filled with walks, beach trips (which even though requires a lot of effort on the parts of moms and dads are well worth it for the big smiles that were had), and a lot of delicious food. 

Our second or third day there we found ourselves at the beach one morning and after getting all set up another family came and set up near by.  I didn’t pay much attention until the kids came down by the water where I was parked in a chair watching Kennedy splash around and play.  I wasn’t really focused on anything in particular until something came into focus.  The little girl, probably around seven or eight that Kennedy was playing along side and then eventually with had Down syndrome.  She wasn’t very verbal, which was clear after Kennedy asked her what her name was and replied, “Huh??” every time she attempted to say, “Rebecca.”  I called Kennedy over and tried to simply explain in a way that wouldn’t illicit too many questions from my overly curious little girl that ‘she doesn’t have all of her words yet, so just have fun and play with her’.  And that’s what they did; they chased each other around, and shared Kennedy’s goggles, and splashed- not needing to say anything.  It was clear, they were speaking the same language to each other: Kid.  I sat there, unable to take my eyes off what was in front of me; a rare glimpse at what life could have looked like if Jack could have stayed with us.  I cried behind my sunglasses with a big smile on my face-all of the emotions coursing through my heart at once.  And when her mother came over to apologize in the event we were bothered, I said, “Oh no, she’s great, let her play!”

Oh and my husband decided to do a flip off the bridge there (because all the kids were doing it).  I wish he could have heard how impressed they were by him.  It didn't matter though-he was pretty impressed by himself.

The next day was an emotional one for me.  I was officially thirty weeks.  I had officially past the mark of where my pregnancy with Jack ended.  I delivered him at twenty-nine weeks and five days.  I had all the feels going on, but relief was again at the forefront.  My mind tried to again, for the umpteenth time, to remind my heart, “It’s different this time.  Everything is different.”  I gave myself the permission I needed to feel everything I was feeling and continue on with a gorgeous day in a little fishing village called Menemsha.  I snapped lots of pictures of Kennedy and Sean climbing around on the rocks as I reminded her to be careful at least fifty times and laughing to myself as I heard her say to Sean, thinking I was out of earshot, “Why is Mommy always worrying so much?”  As I listened to Sean give her what he thought, mistakenly, she would accept as an answer, I fell a little more in love with him.  I don’t know if it was the perfect background, or the way he talks to our little lady, or that seagull print shirt he was rocking, but I found myself thanking God that we made it through the other side of the storm together.

Jen and Andrew watched Kennedy for us later that night so we could grab a nice, quiet dinner in Edgartown together.  It was all perfect; from the views, to the fancied-up version of pigs-in-a-blanket that neither of us could resist, to the mocktail “Fassionola” the waitress brought over.

The rest of the week carried on with more beach and delicious lobster rolls than I could have asked for.  Kennedy gushed over baby Oliver all day, every day, so eager to help with everything except the dirty diapers; but who could blame her-he’s near-impossible to resist snuggling. 

Kennedy and Sean rode the oldest carousel in the United States in Oak Bluffs two separate days, grabbing the brass ring twice!  She thought she’d struck gold- but her genuine smiles were the real prize for me.

On the Fourth of July, we packed up a picnic dinner and made our way back to Edgartown in time to catch an adorable parade from the cutest little park and see the fireworks show down at the Harbor.  Kennedy loved everything about it and said more than ten times, no exaggeration, “I love it here, lets never leave!”

Of course, on our last full day, we went to the most perfect beach that ever was.  When we got there and asked the parking attendant which side we should go to with the kids he said, “Well, the pond is kid heaven so…”  he wasn’t kidding.  With the ocean on one side of us, separated only by some small dunes, was the gorgeous freshwater pond, clear, and shallow, and full of little fish Kennedy tried to catch with a bucket for the whole 3 hours we were there.  Next time, that’s the go–to spot for sure.

Like all good things, it had to come to and end, and as we packed, Kennedy voiced what the rest of us were feeling, “Can’t we just stay here forever?”  But we packed it up and made our way home, agreeing that this should become an annual trip.

And now to finish off the summer at home, waiting for another little boy that will undoubtedly change our lives.  Monday, we will pick up Kennedy’s first pair of glasses, which we learned she needs last week, and hopefully find out what school she will start in come September. 

If I could bottle all this up, folks, I would. 

Never Replaced

Every time my mom would share with us she was pregnant (jeez-what a sentence that is! It was three times that I can recall!) I would send a wish out into the universe that I hoped it was a boy.  Yes, you read that correctly-it didn't matter that my sister and I were outnumbered and up to our ears in testosterone, I always hoped for a boy.  Yes, the relationships I have with the boys is different, and remarkable because of the differences-age, disposition and temperament, but that wasn't it.  I never wanted to feel replaced.  I know that sounds ridiculous when it's said out loud, but there you have it.  I never wanted to see another little girl doing all of the things that I had done before her-watching my parents relive those moments with just a small change of cast.  Which brings us face to face with all of the feels coursing through this mama's heart in month seven.  I am officially in the third trimester, and just mere weeks away from the end point of my pregnancy with Jack, thirty weeks, and I find myself sending messages up to my baby boy that all go something like this:

Sweet boy,

Please know I am not leaving you behind.  You are not being erased.

The brother that is on his way for Kennedy in no way makes up for the void that was left in her little heart when you died.  I know you hear the conversations she and I still have about you and you see the tears she still cries on the nights she is most lonely; still asking, trying to rectify it all in her mind, "But why, mama?  Why couldn't Jackie stay with us?"  And though she is so excited for Carter to come, she always includes you in the count, always gives you big brother credit too.  

And your room?  I know we never got it finished for you and I always feel guilty about that, but sometimes it was a blessing in disguise for me.  The fact that it still had Kennedy's monogram and left over things on the walls made it a little more bearable when I had to go in there after we came home without you.  I don't know if I really would ever have had the strength to cover you up that way.  You probably looked down and saw me struggling on what to do with that room; heard me crying and tell Daddy, "We can't-then he really won't have a place in this house-I can't do that do him."  And so your dad, God love him, declared it: The boys' room.  And, maybe because I was grasping at something to make it not hurt, or because deep down I like to think that you would have begged for a little sibling to call your own, you would maybe have shared that room with Carter one day regardless, and so we went with it.  Who knows, I'm sure Carter will, one day, get sick of feeling like there is not place for him to call  'just his' but for now, it sticks.  We tried to make it just a boy room-no theme-we'll just wait and see where things take us.  I hope you like it though. 

And all of those clothes that our family and friends bought for you?  The ones that hung there for over two years because I couldn't bring myself to touch them or put them away?  What becomes of those?  Strangely, it was something so many people asked about when they learned we were expecting another boy, and it would drive me wild when I'd hear it: "Will you just use all of the clothes you got from Jack?" Or "Good thing you already have all of those boy clothes!"  On one hand I get it, if he were going to be a girl we'd use all of your sister's clothes and not bat an eyelash; her hand-me-downs.  But these aren't your hand-me-downs, not really.  You didn't get the chance to wear them and grow out of them, so it's not the same.  But they were yours first-that fact is not lost on us.  And so I know you've watched as I did nothing with them, keeping your closet closed and certainly never looking through them, knowing full well how hard it would be.  And then one day not so long ago, I did.  With your dad, I poured over them and decided piece by piece which I could bear to dress your brother in and tucking away the ones I can't, like the tiny outfit we'd brought down to Philly with us, in hopes of bringing you home in it. No, not that one-that is only yours.  Going through the closest was just as excruciating as I built it up to be in my mind.  I sobbed as I touched each thing; reminded how excited we were to have you wear them-you'd already built quite an extensive wardrobe, bud.  Daddy and I made it through it though and talked through it and decided on our mindset together.  I'm trying to look at it as we are weaving you into your brother's life the best we can.  I avoid elephant clothes when I can because that's your thing-it's hard to avoid though, they're everywhere it seems.  I hope it's ok; that you don't mind him wearing them.  

So you see, Jack, we are not replacing you, sweet boy.  No, never that.  We are just finding a way to move forward and still bring you with us.  I promise I will always say I have three children.  I will always say I have one girl and two boys.  I will never leave you out of the count and you will always have a place in our home and, more importantly, in our hearts…

I have variations of this conversation often, feeling like I’m pleading for him to believe me only to realize it’s me the needs some convincing or more like reassurance sometimes.  And so, with only two months and change to go, I am filled with mixed emotions, equal parts excited and terrified. 

Having my little lady, both of us officially off for the summer, keeps my mind focused and busy and in a good place.  We are excitedly getting ready for a weeklong stay on Martha's Vineyard and the beach life, doing our best to stay cool as the belly grows and the temperature climbs.  

Ice pops and happy thoughts are what carry me through.  

Slowing Things Down

Whenever grown-ups would say things like, “It seems like it was just yesterday…” I would roll my eyes.  I couldn’t grasp the concept.  Well to steal their sentiment, it seems like it was only yesterday that I had this brand new baby girl in my arms, letting a day just fall away while I stared at her in utter amazement.  And suddenly, all in a week’s time, Sean and I found ourselves sitting in the audience of a dance recital and a preschool graduation.  And more than once I have caught myself literally wiping the tears that start streaming down my face; I can’t help but take in the fact that that same baby girl is five and finishing up all of the things that a year ago, made her seem like a real little kid, and now, make her seem too old.  How can it be that we are here already?  Her first year of dance over, two years of preschool coming to a close, and her first foray in organized sports winding down; it’s going too fast.  I feel like I’m losing her.

Now I know, this seems a tad over dramatic but hear me out.  These first, precious, five years, when we have been the center of her little world are behind us and, ahead of her, all of these new little people that over time will come to mean just as much if not more to her.  Their opinions will be the ones she will hear loud and clear, sometimes drowning out our voices in her head telling her all of the good things a mom and dad desperately try to convince their little ones of.  She will go to school in September, and that will be where most of the best things in her day will happen, and I can only hope she’ll want me to know about it all.  And, as pathetic as it sounds, I won’t be her “best friend” anymore.  I can’t be; the introduction of all of these outsiders will force me to take off the “friend” hat for good (or at least for the next thirteen-ish years) and be her mom-the one she will direct all of her frustration at, the one that will ruin a perfectly good time because I worry too much or assume too much.  Don’t get me wrong-it has to be done and so I will step into that role willingly-if for no other reason than to do my part to ensure I am not sending an a**hole out into the world, but it still makes me sad. 

And so, this week I found myself wishing time would slow down so I could do a better job of taking it all in.  Willing myself not to get frustrated at the little things: the tantrums, the willfulness.  I did my best to stop and absorb the things that may stop in the coming years: the way she touches my face or asks me how my day is, unsatisfied if I don’t offer up enough detail.   I watched this little girl who, quite literally, dances like no one is watching or can’t imagine anyone laughing at her for it or sings louder than any of the other children, not even a hint of self-consciousness and I offered up a silent prayer to whoever listens to the pleas of a mama on the edge ‘Please don’t let the world ruin her. Don’t let it take this from her.’

Whether it was heard or not, she danced her little heart out and performed the songs, complete with the sign-language I didn’t know she knew, with an unrestrained joy that made my eyes leak and my heart feel so full.

Sean is away this weekend on his golf annual with the men of my family and so, as Kennedy says every five minutes, it’s a girl’s weekend for us! I hope she’ll always be this happy to spend a weekend home with me.  We have some much needed sunshine and heat coming our way so I already know that the days will bring lots of time outside, with dirty knees and feet, but a whole lot of smiles too. 

I am doing my best to slow this time with her down; this last summer before I have to let her go and allow her to begin to build a little life outside of her family.  I will squeeze out every last drop of it that I can and that this big baby bump will allow for.

That being said it’s my last week of work for the school year and it can’t end soon enough.  So next week; I will slow it all down next week.