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)

Finding the Right Words

As a mama there are just certain things you will constantly tell your children; stop that, don’t run, sit still, stop yelling, that won’t happen, and don’t worry.  In fact, I sometimes contemplate playing a drinking game where every time I say one of those things I’d take a gulp of wine.  But, then I remember that I have to adult and being drunk all day could become problematic.  So that list of ever-repeated phrases has become so commonplace I don’t even hear myself say it half the time.  It wasn’t until this past weekend that I said it, actually heard myself say it, and saw the painful doubt in my four-year-old’s worried eyes. 

We were getting ready for her nap and she touched my cheek and started crying, “I’m going to miss you if you die!” I gently but quickly said, “I’m not dying,” dismissing it as a stall tactic.  She cried a little more but then settled down.  When she woke up from her nap she was still out of sorts and whiny so I had her sit with me on the couch for a bit.  She seemed to rally until she asked, “Does everybody die?” I faltered for a moment, ready to say ‘don’t worry, that won’t happen’ yet I couldn’t form the words and force them out of my mouth. 

You see Kennedy knows that it’s not true. She knows death. And I’m not just talking a fish, though we have recently lost her beta fish that we tried our damnedest with (two years, we managed!) and she had a good cry over him.  No, I mean the kind of actual death that leaves a gaping absence in your home.  Her baby brother died almost two years ago.  Though she never saw him in person, her little heart had already carved out a place for him and so when he didn’t come home with Mommy and Daddy, but in his place a grief that overpowered our lives, she felt the loss.  Even if at times she couldn’t understand what it was, she felt it.  We never lied to her, we explained in terms she could understand yet never anything abstract- “Jack died and when you die you don’t come back anymore”-knowing things like heaven would be lost on her.  We weren’t sure she got it, but as time went on she would fact check on what dying meant, whether all babies died or just ours, did that still make her a sister, or whether you still miss people when they die; all of these made it very clear she understood he was gone.  I often doubt whether we handled any of it the right way, especially when she goes on a tangent talking about dying at inopportune times like birthday parties or playing with her cousins.  But I have to remind myself that this is part of her life experience and to ignore it is to discount it and even if that breaks my heart, it will help shape who she becomes in this life.

And so, when she asked, “Does everybody die,” I had to say ‘yes, eventually everyone dies,’ and just hug her as she cried.  And she did cry.  Real, sad tears. I grasped at straws saying, “But don’t worry, not for a really, super long time!” As she calmed a bit from that, I, inside my anxious-mother-mind, desperately pleaded with whoever is in charge of that sort of thing for it to be true; ‘Please don’t take anyone else this little girl loves too soon, her little heart needs to mend.’  Death was then the subject of the night and it took a while for me to get her to change the subject.  I thought we had moved on until I was tucking her in again for bed and she said, “Don’t worry Mama, because even if you do die you won’t really go away, I’ll just keep you by Jack in my heart.” I managed to choke out ‘Okay’ passed the lump in my throat, kiss her, and leave the room.

I will not lie to her about death and dying. I will always to my best to help her make sense of the losses she faces as best we can.  I myself struggle to understand why certain people die when they do, why my baby boy couldn’t stay with us in this life and I tell her that too. I tell her so she understands that she is not alone in her sadness and that some days we may just feel a little sadder than we do other days and that that’s okay too. 

Insert Fear Here.

She’s fearless.  A sentiment used often to describe my baby girl; by me, by her grandparents, my friends.  And for the most part, she is.  I’ve loved that about her-the way she approaches things with boldness in her eyes I can’t really explain.  It makes her seem so free, that there is no hesitation in anything she does.  Except now it scares me. 

She talks to strangers like they are old besties and is far too friendly to people that are friendly towards her.  She had started off a little shy, with me having to coax her into smiling or waving to someone that interacted with her as a baby and young toddler but now I feel like we have to do a 180 and head in the opposite direction with me telling her she absolutely can not talk to strangers, that she should be afraid of people.  I wish there could a middle ground but I'm learning, as with everything involving a four-year-old, no such ground exists.

My cousin and his family came to visit this weekend and we had a great time, leaving all of us exhausted and content.  We visited the annual fair around here and stayed up late, riding rides and filling our bellies with greasy fries covered in cheese, bacon, and served in a paper dog bowl and sugary cotton candy and lemonade.  It was incredibly crowded which made me anxious and on edge, if my eyes went off any of the kids for even a second I panicked.  While the whole traveling fair-scene has always been a bit creepy to me it reached an all time high (or low, really) when I took Kennedy on a ride.  The operator was a man that was overly friendly, talkative, and just gave off an overall creepy vibe.  My little duck, off course, was not picking up on this and was smiling and talking and excitedly joking around, which he seemed to be eating up.  While we entered the ride, I picked her up, strapped her in, and he never came in contact with either one of us.  When we exited the ride Kennedy got confused, thought he was me as we were exiting, and she grabbed onto his shorts.  The look he gave, meant for her but that I intercepted, went right through me.  I felt ill.  Nothing happened. I repeat: NOTHING HAPPENED.  But the dark parts of my mind went right to work and I thought: he easily could have been a pervert, a really bad guy, and he could have hurt her or done something that would have been inappropriate but she made not have even known it had I not been right there with her.  And were there other kids, kids whose parents weren’t right there? I could have vomited. 

And so what did I do?  I went on the next ride with her and I talked to her.  I scared her.  I scared her into understanding that not everyone is a good person; that there are people that could hurt you even though they pretend to be nice and friendly.  She asked the usual questions: How? Why? Who? I had to draw a line in regards to how scared I could make her but I had to make sure she understood as best she could at four.  Was it the best route to take with a little kid?  Who knows but I had to make a decision, a decision that would no longer allow her to feel so free and comfortable in her surroundings and that broke my heart a little.  Yet the fear that I was feeling while seeing how vulnerable a child can be when they are inherently too trusting overrode the joy I felt and feel in regards to her freedom.

Her boundaries need work and it doesn’t help trying to explain to her that some strangers are all right to talk to and others aren’t and as with most parenting lessons I flounder and look to others for a little guidance. As she gets older we will find a balance.  But I will watch her like a hawk for as long as I can get away with it and pray like mad that when I no longer can that her gut will take over and lead her in the right direction, should she ever find herself in a situation that feels off.  I pray she learns that that kind of perceptiveness brings a freedom all of its own.  My hope is that this bit of fear I’ve planted takes hold but does not take over; that she may be a bit more guarded with her smiles until someone has earned them as well as her trust.  I hope she will still dive into situations headfirst but only after she does a quick check to make sure it’s safe.   

A few more shots of the weekend fun…

And now, I sleep.