A Labor of Love

Photo credit: Jennifer Pondillo Photography

Rule number one in my book as a first time expectant mother:  Do NOT listen to anyone else’s “birth story”.  It will only scare you and make you feel like the plans you had for your own baby’s delivery are impossible.  But, if you must ask about their experience just know this-every single birth is different.  Every. Single. One.  Even when you have had multiple kids- their entrance into this world will have been different in it’s own way.  My own three babies were certainly no exception.

Kennedy Egan’s was filled with waiting past the due date, back labor, lots of pushing and not a lot of action and then an emergency C-section that brought us a 7 lb. 2 oz. and 22 ½ in. baby girl and me a whopping spinal headache that I wouldn’t wish on anyone. 

Jack Holden’s was filled with a very early arrival, and even earlier departure and more tears than any parent should ever shed in their lifetimes.  He was tiny, yet at 4 lbs. 9 oz. and 14 in. at only thirty weeks- still a pretty big boy.  He came into the world quietly, only tiny little noises before he left us, and had us shell-shocked for over a year trying to figure out how we’d ever move forward.  But I have to believe that this boy guided us through it from above to bring us to the place we arrived to just three weeks ago. 

And so here we are.  Three weeks later and I think I’m ready to peel myself away from him long enough to introduce you all to Carter Fitzgerald.  The boy that tricked me twice into thinking he was coming.  The boy that, although I was terrified to carry, knew this would be it for us, and so at the time was sad to no longer have him nestled under my heart.

The days before his scheduled arrival Sean and I tried our best to soak up the last moments of Kennedy alone.  They were long days, but I knew I’d never get them back- and more than that, she’d never get them back.  The resounding sentiment though was that we were all so excited.  The day before he arrived and Sean’s dad and step-mom had come up from North Carolina, Kennedy decided she’d spend the night at Sean’s mom’s house, and my parents had just returned from the family beach trip.  Everyone was where they were supposed to be.  We ate a nice hot, home cooked meal together, laughing that it could be the last one for a long while and decided to try and go to sleep early-you know, so we wouldn’t be tired?  Go ahead, you can laugh. 

I had been having contractions pretty much always but decided I was just ignoring them because I would be the girl who cried labor no more.  Well by three in the morning it was a little too much to ignore but since I was scheduled to arrive at the hospital until six I took a bath instead (imagine how they talk about how small the tanks at Sea World are for the poor whales…), then a shower and was ready to go by 4:30am.  I finally woke Sean up and told him it was time to get moving.  We left the house at five and were at the hospital at 5:30 and getting checked in.  As soon as I was hooked up to the monitors-it was evident the contractions were real and of course this boy decided to start moving things along then, the day he was planned for.  I kept whining at poor Sean that ‘I thought that the whole point of the “schedule” was to avoid all of this’.  He just kept smiling at me and then put on the paper suit and waited.  And I waited.  And then finally my amazing doctor, who it become very clear fibbed about being “on call” and called in favors to deliver this baby on a holiday so we could be home in time to put our little girl on the school bus four days later, arrived and said it was go time.

As I walked to the delivery room with the nurses to begin the spinal, Sean gave me a kiss and said he’d be right behind me.  The second I entered the OR though it got a little ugly.  I was on high alert; I could barely follow the anesthesiologist’s directions but it got done they laid me down and the full panic set it.  I was having horrible flashbacks to Philadelphia, the lights, the sounds, all of it.  My heart was pounding so hard it was setting alarms off and led them to giving me oxygen.  The doctor popped his head around the drape and said, “Sean is coming in now and I am going to have this baby to you in ten minutes.”  And he did.  The second he was out and I heard his little scream, I could breathe again.  To say I was relieved will never do it justice.  I cried- hard; and for a lot of different reasons.  Everyone got a chuckle over how big Cater was:  9lbs. 9oz. and 21.5 in.  Everything else moved along without issue but truth-be-told I wouldn’t have noticed if it were otherwise.  I couldn’t take my eyes off of that boy. 

A few hours later, the most beautiful thing happened.  Kennedy came to meet her brother-the boy who lived.  Her face just about undid me.  She fell in love hard.  And even on the high of this new baby when a nurse said, “ Oh, you’re a big sister now!” my baby girl, who looked so old and sounded so wise, simply said, without ever taking her eyes off of her baby, “I was already a big sister.”  And in that moment, I knew. I knew we could make it all work.  The five of us-as unconventional a family as it may be, we are still a party of five.

I spent my last night there alone with Carter, since Sean had to take Kennedy to meet her teacher, drop off her supplies, and practice the school bus, but they came to get me right after.  I couldn’t wait to leave.  I couldn’t wait to walk out of the hospital’s doors with a baby in my arms; I needed the experience so badly.  And, again, came the relief. 

And then we were home.  And, I couldn’t believe my eyes when it happened, but after the rain that came later that day, hand-to-God: a rainbow appeared.  And so I cried; I cried very happy with a hint of very sad tears.  Jack was welcoming his baby brother home too.

The next morning came quickly.  There was a lot of excitement from the little lady ready to embark on her kindergarten adventure and a lot of nerves for the mama not quite ready to hand her baby off to perfect strangers.  I held it together as I stood in the driveway watching one baby board the school bus, barely looking back, with another tucked in my arms.  Once the bus pulled away, the tears flowed.  She returned elated that day and so we called it a win. 

I don’t want to paint it all as perfect though.  Emotionally I feel much better than I ever expected; I feel pretty great in fact.   But I am scared a lot too.  I’ve brought this guy to the doctor twice already and worry a lot more than I ever did about small things with Kennedy.  I can’t help it.  It’s like my heart and all of the ache it’s been through can't fathom that things are ok; that things are different this time.   I am trying to be easy on myself, to not get too inside of my own head and enjoy every minute of this.

Photo credit: Jennifer Pondillo Photography

Photo credit: Jennifer Pondillo Photography

Photo credit: Jennifer Pondillo Photography

Photo credit: Jennifer Pondillo Photography

The last three weeks have been somewhat of a blur.  Lots of snuggles, a surprising amount of sleep, lots of visitors, our first brush with a sick sibling and having to keep them separated (so not easy), the little man packing on the lbs. (we’re up to eleven as of this morning!) and hours staring at this little boy-one that, two years ago, I never would have thought would be here. 

Photo credit: Jennifer Pondillo Photography

Things to Come

These last two weeks I have been the girl who cried labor.  Twice.  Both times I was convinced that was it; and both times I got myself incredibly worked up that, once again, things were not going according to plan.  It's almost laughable that I, after all of this time and everything that has happened, can still have a part of me believe I have control over anything.  And so both times we went in, I peeked in on my baby girl before we left, wanting to take in every inch of her as she was before her life is changed again in a way you can't really prepare a child for until it happens.  Both times I was sent home-feeling like an idiot, feeling frustrated, and wondering how many times in her life can a woman really leave the hospital without a baby and survive?  As I waddled and cried my way to the car each time, Sean would say, "it's different circumstances, love."  The thing is though that even though in my mind, rationally, I know that it's different, it didn't feel different-it just felt terrifying.  But everything is going fine-I'm told this every time I panic and call my OB-and so this last time I left the hospital, wondering how after 2 kids I still can not for the life of me figure out what is real and what is just normal, end-stage pregnancy stuff, I told myself-this is it-settle in for the next few days and take it all in.  I've been telling myself, almost like a mantra 'Take every second of her in.  The moment she walks through the hospital room door to visit-she will seem infinitely older.  Take in these last days of pregnancy-it is no doubt your last one, and try to appreciate all of it-good, bad and otherwise.'  A week that should have been spent beachfront with family instead became a week filled with a wedding, pampering for me and the little lady, a ‘sprinkle’ from a wonderful group of ladies I have been lucky enough to become friends with, an unexpected but great visit from my cousin, and getting some naps in while I can.

But as I sit here at the bottom of the driveway and watch her take off up and down the street on her bike it dawns on me: there are a thousand things I want to say to her before Monday morning comes.  I've tried to a few times but stop myself knowing she won't truly understand what I'm trying to say and some of it would only confuse her.  But maybe one day she'll read this and then she'll know.

My sweet baby girl,

I wish there was a way I could prepare you for what is coming.  Your little world is about to change in so many ways-amazing ways, scary ways, maybe even in ways that are a little sad. 

I know Daddy and I try, we talk about kindergarten and Carter all of the time, trying to get you excited or ease any fears or uncertainties you seem to have, but things will arise we never even thought to mention; things you never ever thought to be nervous about. 

Please know you will forever be our baby.  You will never get so old that I will look at you and not see the beautiful baby girl that, even as a brand new infant was so alert, with a look in her eyes that seemed like she knew more than the rest of us. 

I hope you know that even though there will seem to be an enormous shift in attention-I would never try to convince you of otherwise-but you will always be the girl that lights up a room. 

We will forever love the way you speak about being Jack's older sister, and you always will be, but now you will actually get to experience what that means.  It's going to be fun, and hard, and annoying, and yet still one of the best parts of life.  It may make you feel sad sometimes to think about everything you missed out on by losing Jack when you see how great it is to be loved by a younger sibling.  I think your brother will look down on you from heaven and be so happy to see you become what you were always meant to be: someone's boss. 

Daddy and I promise to still make time for you, to do the things you love to do, but to also figure out a way to teach you that it's not all about you anymore.  I'm sure to you this will seem wildly unfair and mean.  But we do realize that there has been a lot of overcompensating over the last two and half years and to some extent what's done is done.  But I feel like I need to be upfront and let you know now that we can’t let you have your way all the time anymore and its ok for you to feel a little resentful about that-its totally normal and one day in the not so distant future you and your brother will collude to get what you want.

I pray to God there is not a single moment in the coming weeks that you feel any less special because it’s not just you anymore.  I know you’ve had to share my heart with Jack for the last few years, though its amazing how a mama’s heart can accommodate the amount of love another child brings, but this time will be different, you’ll have to share so much more, my lap, my hugs, my attention.  But special isn’t even a word to do you justice.  You are special in a way that is hard to explain in words.  You, sweet girl, you quite literally saved your mother.  You’ve pieced me back together when I came apart at my seams.  You proved to me that its possible to smile and laugh and move forward even with a broken heart.  I hope you’ve learned that as you’ve watched me but I also hope you know one day that it is you that taught me this lesson. 

So I know that even though I am bracing myself to see you walk through the hospital room door and be barely recognizable to me, I know there is so much good coming our way.  You have so many new and exciting adventures ahead of you:  as a big sister, a kindergartner, and a little girl that is going to walk her way into a lot of people’s hearts (though part of me knows I should warn poor Mrs. Neary what is walking through her own door next week!). 

You will always be my first, the one that made me a mommy, the one that challenges me in ways I am never ready for-keeping me on my toes.  I will never be able to make you understand the magnitude of the love I have for you, Kennedy Egan, but I will sure as hell spend my life trying.

Love you always,

Mama

And now my friends, I will say goodbye for a bit, but will be back soon with, God willing, beautiful moments and photos of a baby boy named Carter Fitzgerald.  Send me your good thoughts and vibes. Xo.

A Picture's Worth a Thousand Feelings

I love pictures.  I love looking through them after a day that was filled with fun.  I like to pour over old photos and how I can usually remember a crazy amount of detail about the moment.  I have my camera, or at the very least my phone at all time so I can capture what’s in front of me.  I love the stories photos tell, not necessarily through what you are seeing, because lord knows we rarely take pictures of the bad times, but the stories that are called to mind when you look at them.

I’m usually behind the camera.  I’m comfortable there.  But every once in a while I think it’s important to hand over the camera to a professional and be part of the memory.  Newborn photos, family pictures- those I have always been able to get on board with.  One trend that always made me uncomfortable though was maternity photo-shoots.  Not for me anyway.  I always felt overexposed just thinking about doing them.  Now, maybe this is because I’m not one of those people that loves being pregnant.  I tolerate it because the end game is well worth it, but I am by no means someone that “misses” it. 

Now when I was pregnant with Kennedy I took a profile shot of my belly every month but just for me, if only occasionally showing a family member.  I remember having a meltdown, just days before I had her, when my sister innocently posted one of the two of us- incredibly pregnant- on Facebook.  I was so swollen and felt deeply unattractive and so just about lost my mind.  She quickly took it down, if only to shut me up, and that was that. 

When I was pregnant with Jack, by the time I was starting to show, the bad news had already started mounting.  I was miserable.  I was always crying, makeup a mess, and in no mood to smile for anyone.  I can honestly say I have about four photos of me pregnant with him and then, just like that he was gone.  I hated myself for it.  I spent so much time wallowing and feeling sorry for myself that I didn’t stop to ever really appreciate any of the small moments. That’s not to say they weren’t there; there were many.  I was just oblivious to them at the time.

And so after weathering the last two years and then learning we were going to be having another baby, I vowed to myself that I would appreciate it this time.  That if I could be brave enough to carry another baby, and shoulder all of the emotion that comes with that each day, that I could suck it up and document it.  If for no other reason, I want to be able to explain to my son, that though it was with a broken and roughly patched together heart, that I was so incredibly thankful he was coming. 

So a few weeks back, I reached out to the wonderful photographer that took our family photos when it was just the three of us and that graciously edited all of our photos that were taken of Jack at CHOP at no cost, and asked her to be part of this too.  She right away said yes and I right away began to reconsider my decision.  I started coming up with a list of all of the things I wouldn’t do:  no bare belly, no Sean kissing said belly, the list just kept growing.  I did want to subtly pay homage to the fact that this is a “rainbow baby”; that we’d weathered a storm and something beautiful was waiting for us. 

I donned a dress, a flower crown of rainbow pastel colors, and brought my beautiful baby girl, handsome husband, and the little worn elephant that has come to symbolize my first baby boy and we set out to do something none of us were incredibly comfortable with: Kennedy is no smile-er , Sean couldn’t believe I wanted him to wear long sleeves, and I was about to touch my stomach in front of a camera.  I am so thankful we did.  The results were magic and I sobbed when I saw them.  They tell a story.  Maybe it’s only me that see’s it when I look at them but there’s a story there and it goes like this:

There was a family that was once so whole and so happy.  Then they lost someone; a boy that could never be replaced and that left a gaping hole in this family.  It near broke the mom; you can still see it in her smile-a smile that looks happy enough-but nothing like it ever used to.  The dad and the little girl, they fought so hard to make the mom happy again, and she thinks of that every time she touches them.  Years past and, somehow, they decided they would try to give the little girl a little hand to hold in the hand that didn’t clutch that little elephant still so tightly.  Despite how scared they were, they found themselves excited for who was to come.  And despite all of the tears and heartache, the family found themselves able to be happy once again.

I think she nailed it.  That’s exactly what I saw when I looked through each frame.

Fun Fact:  my great-grandmother made this maternity blouse for my great-aunt.  My mom and sister both wore it too. 

Shifting gears a for a quick minute: my Grammy came upstate for a weeklong visit.  She has gotten old, her Parkinson’s is taking more away from her than seems fair, and it breaks my heart sometimes.  But beneath all of that I still see the woman that I have loved so deeply for the last almost thirty-two years.  She still makes me laugh at the things she says, and makes these facial expressions that give you a glimpse at the kind of spitfire she is beneath her more proper exterior.  And the way Kennedy loves her; my God it gives me all the feels.  I watched my little girl take such care of this woman she loves just the way I do, helping her move from place to place, and holding her hand, and declaring that “Only me and Grammy are sitting in the special seats at the movie theater!” in the car and then “quietly” telling my mom that they are special seats for old people “but don’t tell Grammy she is old, that’s disrespectful.”  If we could keep her here with us forever we would and it makes me miss being home and close to her.  And I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t a part of me that’s terrified that time is running out and she will be our next big heartbreak.  But for now, we drink up our time with her, knowing she’ll be back soon to meet our new little man that is coming very soon.

Pictures.  To me, they are worth more than a thousand words.  Sometimes there are no words.  They are worth a thousand feelings.  I have no doubt that when I am old and gray, I will continue to pour over these pictures I’ve taken, and upload, and dutifully back up on my hard drive each night and remember the moments that were captured.  And when I’m gone, hopefully they will tell a story for the ones I love.