It's Christmas!

It's that time of year again. Yea...that time of year. It came a little faster than it usually does, it seems. Halloween is over, Thanksgiving is has long since passed, and Christmas is now only days away. Will this year be different than the last ones? Will I find the Christmas magic I feel like I've been missing? Hmm, did I ever really have it? These days, more often than not, I feel I have experienced only two holiday seasons. While I have physically lived through far more than that, emotionally, there have been only two: The ones before and the ones after Isabella's death. Those two seasons are, in themselves, so very different. 

Looking back, I know what my focus USED to be on. I remember being a child, and even into my early adulthood where all I REALLY cared about were the material things in this world. What would I get? What did I want? What would make me the happiest? Once I was an adult, and after I had had Jason, my focus shifted. I was still focused on the material things, but was now no longer interested in them for myself. What did he want? What would make him love me more? How would I manage to pay for all of it? Eventually the other boys came along, which really just intensified those feelings that I was already having. After all, that made that many more people I had to be materialistic for! I always finished the holiday thinking something was missing, thinking I had done something wrong.  I could never truly figure out what that something was, and by the time I did, the holiday season was over, and we were moving on. Whatever it was that was missing would have to wait until next year...at least.

In 2011, just after that aforementioned holiday season, Bella died. My world, which had been chugging along at a solid, steady pace, stopped dead in it's tracks. Everything that used to be important to me no longer was, and things that used to seem so crucial were now so trivial. How could those things have been such a big deal?  Oiy. To say my heart was broken was an understatement. There truly is no appropriate term for the loss I felt, for the hole that was inside of me. I never thought for a minute that I could heal this broken heart...that i would recover from this pain. I fell into a pit of deep despair, of darkness, and destruction. I knew eventually I would have to come out of it, and when I did, I'd be reborn.

That first set of holidays was easily the most difficult. That feeling when everything is still numb, and you're still trying to come to terms with the reality of what is. The pain that was her death was seeping in slowly though, no matter how hard i tried to fight it. Before I could blink it was Halloween, and the horror of what I had lost was ready with a snow shovel to plow me in the face. We went to the pumpkin patch, as we do every year, and i bought a pumpkin for her anyway, though she wouldn't get to carve it. It was a tiny one, but it was hers.  Thanksgiving came with Christmas on its tail, bringing an empty space where her high chair should have been, presents for my baby who would never be, and silence where once I had laughed. I was sure it could not get any worse, but life always surprises, doesn't it? Then as the decorations went up, reality hit hard and was more than I felt I could bear.  I began wallowing in everything she'd never get to do, everything we'd never get to do with her. Those feelings have a way of sneaking up on you, and owning you, ya know? I would never get to pick out the perfect christmas dress for her to wear. I would never see her toddle down the hallway towards a Christmas tree overflowing with Christmas presents. I'd never see her grin at Christmas lights, or laugh as she chased a ball around the hallway. I'd never buy little girl presents especially for my one and only princess. I'd never hear her laugh, or say Merry Christmas, or see Santa for the first time. Never. And I'd NEVER, EVER enjoy the holidays again without her....or maybe even life...never.

The next year, I focused on just doing enough to get through, just enough to say we participated in Christmas for Jason and Logan, but my heart was never really in it...i just didn't feel like being in the Christmas spirit. I hung Bella's stocking right beside the rest of ours, illuminated her special candle to include her in our celebrations, and smiled cheerfully at everyone who offered us their joy filled "Merry Christmas!" And as I spread my Christmas cheer and goodwill toward men, working my humble job, bringing a Merry Christmas to the residents at our facility and making them feel at home, I had only one thought in my mind. It became my mantra: “If I can just make it through December, I will be okay.” I was no longer focused on the material side of the season as I had been in my younger years. In fact, I was no longer focused on the season at all. I wanted it over.

And so, here I am, on what will be my third Christmas without her. My third season of joy, my third year of fa-la-la-ing, my third year of Bella's physical absence. Reading this, you probably think you know where this is headed. You think I'm going to tell you that this year is going to be just like the rest of them.You imagine I'm gonna tell you that it never gets better, that there is no such thing as healing, and that as grieving parents, we will always be bitter and angry. You might think I'm going to tell you that we have a right to be, especially at a time when most families are celebrating a time of giving and we are remembering what has been taken away. If you're thinking those things, you'd be wrong. It took me a long time to get to this point, but here it is. Hold on tight.

Not long ago, I looked deep into my soul, and I saw a light there. I went to church, and that light turned into a fire. I found something beautiful. I found faith. The next morning, I woke up and things looked a little different. Overnight, it seemed, my world had gone from a dull, dingy gray, to a beautiful rainbow. It was beautiful. Later that day, I heard someone in my home softly singing Christmas carols. How dare they!? What were they thinking?!? But . . . It was me. That evening, I made the decision to do crafts with the kids again! We'd do an advent calendar! A lesson of Baby Jesus, and the light that saved me. I bought Randall the Reindeer (Which is like Elf on the Shelf but less creepy!) Suddenly, it hit me. No matter how guilty I feel in acknowledging it, I have to tell you, I am looking forward to Christmas. I'm looking forward to celebrating, and Santa! Oh . . . my . . . GOD. How can this be? Why is this happening?

After much thought over the situation though, I think I know why. I think I spent the holidays of the past looking through a lens that only focused on black and white, on the physical, on that which can be seen and physically felt. The lavishly wrapped gifts, excessive food, amount of money spent, and glittering (sometimes gaudy) lights on the tree. The next two were spent looking through a lens that was distorted and scarred by grief. I focused on what was missing rather than on what was still here. I think I wanted it that way. Now though, I think I've learned to do something mroe than just deal with the memories, I've learned to enjoy them. Although they can at times be bittersweet, I'm dealing with the fact that feeling emotion is really no different than feeling passion about something. It's  lighting a fire in my soul. She's a beautiful memory, and painful one. I have to remember her, miss her, celebrate her, and do that all at the same time. This year, as the cards fill the mailbox, and packages find our doors, as Christmas Carols take over the radio, and Santa is close to making his debut, I will choose a different lens, a lens that captures that which we cannot see or physically touch. A lens that goes beyond.

Of course, not everything will change. I will still hang Bella’s stocking beside ours, do my best to help those in need, light candles in her memory, and all of the other things that have made the last two years bearable. But this year, I hope to do these things with joy rather than with bitterness and sorrow. This year, I want to grasp the hand of a friend in church, kiss the cheek of my sweet son on his first christmas, and hold my boys close while they drift off to sleep, to a place where only children can dream. I want to watch Santa hold my wiggly, silly toddlers in his lap. I want to sing “O Holy Night” on Christmas Eve to a congregation full of people I trust when I haven't truly felt a song in my heart in years. I want to feel the Christmas that we cannot see.

This year, I want to remember the person I really am, the one I used to be. I want to enjoy the months ahead of me. Not because I need to or because someone else says it’s time to move on or that I'm obsessing—but because—well, because I can. This year, I want to find the magic I feel I've always been missing out on....and I want to do it before it's too late.

Faith

It's been awhile. I've been lazy about the blogging thing. To be honest, I've been down. Down about a lot of things. It's the holiday season, and immediately following the holiday season is Bella's birthday, and we all know what that does to me. In addition to that, I've kind of forgotten who it is I am. I'm so much the mother that I forget something that I used to be something else. Who was that person, anyway? 

                           So here's what you missed: 

This past weekend, I went away for the weekend to Flagstaff with the amazing women at Chandler Bible Church. It was a Women's Retreat. A time to get away from the children, husbands, and hassles of life and spend some time with God. We spent the weekend at Little America hotel, it was simply beautiful. That's to say the least, really. For me, I wasn't sure what to expect, but I knew that I was DEFINITELY nervous. What would these women think of me? Would they judge me a little because I don't know how to pray? Would they feel sorry for me because I don't have a relationship with God? Would they pity me for not knowing Christ the way they do? The way they always have? I went into this thing feeling very insecure, and really....uncomfortable. The first night was an ice-breaker. It was getting to know these women who I see every Sunday on a personal level. Sharing some little known facts about me, and learning some about them. Then we got into the thick of things with the beginning of our message. Our speaker, who is also the Worship Team leader of the church, is truly an amazing soul. She spoke in a way that made me feel like I could relate to her, and I immediately began to relax. Perhaps this thing wasn't going to be so scary after all. She spoke about Change, and the impact that God has in the changes in our lives. I felt myself nodding along as she was talking, taking interest in the scriptures she was referencing. At the end of the first night....I was hooked, and couldn't wait to hear more.


 I'll stop here for a minute because I feel like I need to explain something. I have never been a believer in the Power of God. I never believed that he could move you. I never believed that he could cause you to feel something powerful in a song, or lead to you to read a certain passage in the bible. I scoffed at those who told me that the Lord spoke to them and told them to do something. I didn't believe it. Id never experienced it, therefore I didn't understand.

 Day two of our retreat found me awake at 545. bright eyed and bushy tailed, I was ready to take on the day. I did my hair for the day, I put on makeup and was ready to walk out the door early enough to call and chat with my little loves before we left. I got down to breakfast which was amazing, and we did some team building games, that were silly and meaningful at the same time. we sang and worshiped, and then it was time for the second part of our message. I was taking notes, writing down questions, and readying myself for research as she was listing many other places to go in search for guidance. she shared personal stories, she was really holding my attention. After that session was prayer groups. I felt my heart sink a little because I am no good at praying. It always feels forced and awkward and its hard for me where it might not be for others. As we got started though, there was no pressure. No one was judging me because I didn't know how, they were guiding me to learn to be better. It was uplifting. When we were finished, I shared with my group a little about the things id been through, and the reason behind my failing faith. I could feel the weight coming off. I ignored it a little, because the skeptic in me still didn't believe that God could make me feel this way. We had another session, where I found myself really relating. She talked about talking yourself out of your circumstances and leaving your life to God. I stopped and thought about all id been going through. Hadn't I been drowning in a pool of pity? Hadnt I been selfishly making things all about me? Could it be that THIS was what everyone was talking about? Is this the feeling that Hes talking to you?That it wasnt coincidence, you were meant to hear it? hmmm.

 That night we made jewelry, and spent the evening chatting and making friends. I felt happy, calm and peaceful. 3 things that I truthfully hadn't felt in a long time. During our 4 hour break, I took a walk in the woods and reflected on all that Id learned. Was I living a truly Christian life? No, I don't think I was. While I believed in Him, I didn't trust him. I didn't believe that he would provide. I believed I had to. I was akways making it about me. I could see that now. Sunday morning, I woke up feeling something different. I went to breakfast without many of the worries on my brain that you can usually find there. During worship, I sang those songs from my heart and I could FEEL the things I was always told I would. After our last session, we shared. This was my opportunity to get something off of my chest, and to feel free of what was holding me down. I talked about Bella. I said her name loud and proud, and I  admitted out loud more to myself than anyone else that I HAD been angry at God. I HAD lost my trust in him. I wanted Him to hold me and instead He let me fall. I cried. Hard. It was that really ugly, really painful cry. And I thanked them. For allowing me to be who I am. For teaching me and allowing me to hear the words and realize that Bella fufilled her job on Earth. For giving me a safe and loving place to figure it all out on my own.


 And so, I'm changed. I'm not perfect, I never will be. I will always fall short of the greatness and glory that is our Lord. But I am humbled. I realize that this life is not about me, but what he has in store for me. It is not for me to worry or fear, because it is out of my hands, it always has been. I am eager to learn more, eager to become closer to him, and to become the kind of Christian I want my children to be. I can never express to these women the gift they've given me, the impact they've had on my life. I'll be forever different because they took the time to care. And who knows, with my worries and troubkes with God....maybe I'll even be happy too.
 

 

My truth about motherhood

This morning, I woke up with a headache a little worse than usual. When I woke up this morning, I didn't want to be someone's mommy. I woke up this morning, and I wanted to block out the sunlight, ignore the "mommy!"s, and sleep my day away. I didn't, but I fantasized about it briefly. Later, about half way through my wake up coffee, they asked for breakfast, and I asked myself quietly why they needed to eat RIGHT NOW. Nevertheless, I put them off for another half hour, at which point i got up, and fixed them a bowl of cereal.  I changed a diaper, on my lap, without wiping his butt, and I chuckled to myself. I fought with two kids about nap time, which never actually happened, and then I laid one in his bed, and pretended for about 10 minutes that I didn't hear him. He very begrudgingly took his nap, and I said a quiet prayer. During the nap time that should have been, I ignored the laundry that should have been folded, and tried to take a nap. Instead, I refereed through fights and shrieks, and threats. I rolled my eyes, and thought for a minute about leaving them to their devices and checking later to see how it all went down. After their "naps", it was time to feed them lunch. I fed them raviolis, knowing they weren't going to eat them, and prepared myself for the fight that was coming. Again, I rolled my eyes, and wondered why I bother. I considered giving them the lecture that money doesn't grow on trees, and that they had to eat the raviolis, and then i decided...as i shoved dried fruit loops into my mouth that i wasn't interested in the argument today. I fed the baby his bottle, and counted in my head the number of hours until bedtime. I didn't change the baby the second that he peed, and I didn't feel bad about it today. I went into the bathroom with the intention of going pee, but instead just stood there, staring at myself in the mirror, marveling at how quiet it was in the bathroom. I briefly considered that my husband might have been onto something when he began his ritual of taking his phone AND his headphones into the bathroom. Right on cue, the handle starts to jiggle. Of course, I thought to myself, someone always has to pee when I'm in here.
   I told you all of that to tell you this: Motherhood isn't glamorous. It isn't always a walk in the park. It isn't always full of rainbows and sunshine. You see picture of new moms and they're all smiling, holding their newborns to their chests. The truth is, while there is a lot of that, there is a large portion of motherhood that ISN'T like that. What about those moments where your new baby has been crying for hours, and NOTHING you do is helping, and rather than keep trying, you put him in his crib, sit on your bed, and cry with him? What about those moments when your one year old throws up on his outfit after it took you a full hour to convince him to get dressed? Instead of changing him AGAIN, you throw some clothes in the diaper bag, and head off to the sitter, knowing full well she's not going to take him, and you'll be late for work, with child in tow. What about those mothers who tried for days, weeks, months to breastfeed? Suffering through the pain of knowing that you aren't providing for your child. Crying as she cries because you just can't get it right. What about that moment, when the house is dark and finally quiet, that you sit at the kitchen table, with your head in your hands....reliving that LONG day, and wondering if there's more to this life than ABC's and blocks? The mothers of teenagers who deal with the constant attitude and drama of teen angst...don't you ever wanna shut the door behind her as she heads off to school, mumble under your breath that she'll get hers, and then settle in the bathtub with a shot of tequila and a dark bathroom? These are the quiet thoughts that cross our minds, the thoughts we rarely share with others. These are the things you maybe say to your mother, if you're close, to your best friend, if she gets it...but the reality is, these are the thoughts that make us feel like bad parents. But they don't make us bad mothers. They don't change our ability to do the things our children need us to do, to provide for them. What they do, is make us real. They make motherhood the raw and true experience that it is! There are going to be a million amazing moments. You're going to be proud of him as he learns to walk. He's going to take his first steps.....right into your waiting arms. You're going to swoop him up, and kiss him. You'll tell him that you're so proud of him. Two weeks later, as you're cleaning up yet another broken glass, and scrubbing nail polish out of the carpet, you'll ask yourself aloud why you were so excited to teach him how to walk. There are also going to be a million moments like this. Days like today, when I'm frustrated and irritable, and wondering what possessed me to have 3 children so young, I tell myself that its important to remember that we're human. That these things happen, that this is life. It's beautiful, it's disastrous, it's chaotic. And it's perfect way.

This week.

I can think back to the days just after losing her. I remember feeling so alone. In the midst of all the love and support, I remember thinking to myself that they just didn’t get it. I heard it all. I think a lot about the day after, and what I wished someone, anyone, would have said to me. ” I wish someone had been honest enough to stop saying “it’ll be okay” and start saying “ this is going to be the worst pain you’ve ever felt in your life, but you’re going to be strong, and overcome it, and come out better because that’s who you are. I could have used that support. The truth is, as I sit here today, that I am part of an elite club, the kind of club that no one WANTS to be a part of. I didn’t WANT this. I didn’t WANT to be the mama of a dead baby. I didn’t want to grieve. I didn’t want to fold up tiny pink dresses and lock them away. I didn’t want to see myself like this. I didn’t want to WANT to find ways to replace her, and know that truly, I never will. When you’re little, you play pretend. You play house, and there’s a mommy and a daddy, and there are babies. In those games you play when you’re younger….the baby never dies. The baby never goes away. Why is that not something you can even fathom as a reality until it hits you? I wish there had been something to prepare me for the possibility that she might not be. I just wasn’t ready for it. This week, as we near ever closer to her birthday, I find myself thinking again of those days, and I find…whether I admit it or not, that it’s consuming me. Does this hurt ever stop? Does it ever change? Will I eventually wake up without the stabbing pain that comes with knowing my daughter is dead? The truth is, I’ve been overcome with anxiety. The kind that…at times can be debilitating. I find myself crying, in the bathroom, in the middle of the day, for what often feels like no reason, but I know the truth. Daniel, he tries so hard. He listens to me, he loves me, and he knows. Deep down, he knows that my repetitive words, my constant “I’m fines” are just lies. Lies not to make him feel better, but to make me feel better. He knows my heart, he knows my hurt. All the lies in the world couldn’t keep him from knowing how I truly feel. It strikes me as odd sometimes that it still hurts like this after all this time, when it doesn’t hurt anyone else. What are these feelings I am holding on to? What is the normal way to grieve your child? What is the correct feeling? Is it normal that sometimes, in the middle of the night, when I just can’t sleep, I walk quietly into the kitchen where her things are and just stare? Is it normal that I play her songs, that I imagine what it would feel like to sing them to her? Is it normal that I sometimes feel like I am doing a disservice to Owen by still wanting her and needing her so much? How do you define normal in a situation that is affected in so many aspects, in so many ways, to so many people? What is right? It’s hard to grieve for her outwardly, it’s awkward. Few people want to hear about your dead daughter. Few people really care. Besides that, what can I tell you about Bells that I haven’t already said? What can I tell you about the amazing being she was even though I didn’t even really know her? I can tell you I love her. I can tell you that I have a lot of guilt, a lot of anger, and a lot of unresolved feelings. I lock those feelings in a box, and I struggle with them daily. I try to work them out, I try to make them make sense. Underneath those feelings, is the most important one. It’s love. I’ll never forget her. It’ll never go away. The trick will be opening up that box, letting out my anger, my guilt, and my grief, so that all that remains is….love.

Blllehhhh

I'm happy for you. Of course I'm happy for you. I, of all people in your life today realize how important this is to you. I understand how monumental just the CONCEPT of this is for you. I've watched you wait, I've watched you want, I've watched you cry. There was a part of me that thought this would never happen for you. And so...in my own way, I have done all I can to fill that gap. To help you heal, and keep that whole from being open, and gaping. I've tried my hardest to give you what you were lacking, never thinking, despite how much we hoped, that what you were missing would come back. It did though. And yes, I'm happy for you. On the other hand, though, I'm apprehensive. For you, for myself. I fear you'll get hurt...and what will i do if this hurts you? How will I behave if once again your heart is broken? I'll behave like I always do. I'll quietly, dilligently, collect the pieces, and do my best to put them back together. I'll hold your heart in my hands carefully, in the way that only I can, and I'll take care of you. I always do that. I fear I'll get hurt. I'm scared of the part of me that already is. This is huge for you, and I know that. But...where does that leave me? Is this jealousy I feel? Tension? A territorial feeling that stirs and makes me want to jump in front of you and keep you to myself. I know I can't. It's a petty feeling. And I know that. This is why I type it here, cryptically, knowing that you know me well enough to figure me out, but hoping you never do. I let it all out here...because telling you how I fell would mean admitting that I feel it. It would mean admitting that while I'm happy for you, and I love nothing more than to see you smile, I hate it. Those are my smiles. My laughs. Excitement for me. The one who is, but isn't really. In the long run, in the grand scheme, I worry where I'll be. Where I used to be all you needed, am I still? I hate myself for feeling this way, for not being able to control it. For the rogue tears that stain my cheeks, and the tell-tale breathing that keeps me grounded in the now. I close my eyes, and take a deep breath, and tell myself it's all going to be okay. When we've had nothing else, we've always had each other. And nothing can change that...can it?

The Rainbow After The Rain

It's been awhile since I've blogged, to be honest, things have been busy, and hectic, and there just hasn't been time. Last night though, for the first time in a long time, I felt something that compelled me to write, something that moved me to words. I'll share it with you now, if you like.

    Last night, I was holding Owen in my arms, in the darkness of our room in the late night hours. He'd woken up feeling terrible, with the same cough and congestion that he's had all week long. I turned the light on, got his bottle, and held him close to me. Putting the bottle in his mouth, i began to sing to him, the same church songs I always sing to him, they relax him in a different way. As i began singing to him, a smile spread over his face, and his big eyes opened. There, staring at me, were the biggest brown eyes you've ever seen in your life. It was a magical feeling. I got lost in those eyes for a few minutes. Thinking how truly amazing they were. They were my eyes, a trait he'd gotten from me. So familiar as I looked into them, i could see myself, i could see that he was mine. It occurred to me, not for the first time, that i'd never seen a red head with brown eyes, and i realized again that I liked that. How unique my baby would be, and how lucky to have a quality as amazing as it is. 

     Staring at him though, I began to feel other feelings. As you all know, now, there is only one picture of my baby Bella that I have after she was born. I can't go back and change that, although I wish so much that i could. There is nothing about the picture to give me any idea what she'd look like today, all it is is a picture of her tiny hand. I'll be forever grateful to that doctor for having the soundness of mind to take at least one. What I thought about though, was if my sweet girl would look like Owen does. Would she have those same big brown eyes, that seem to look into your soul? Would she have had that fire red hair like he does, a true sign that she was her father's daughter? I wonder if she'd have had dimples like his, or that smile that's contagious. Gosh, I love his smile. I wonder so many things about her. 

   Having a rainbow baby is really a daunting task. While you are so grateful for everything he is, everything he's doing, that he gets to do, that he's still here, and breathing....there's always this nagging in the back of your head about what should have been, what could have been. I read a question at one point that said: "You are given two choices: Move on with your life with no regret, or go back in time, knowing everything you know now, and save your baby. Which would you choose?" This question is one that fills my mind regularly, and yet...my answer is still the same. The initial reaction was to say that I'd go back in time and save Bella. I'd give anything to hold her. Further thought into the question, however...leads me to this: If i HAD saved Bella, if...by some miracle, she had survived all our problems, there would be no Owen. And...am I willing to give up that smile that warms my heart, and those big brown eyes that make me fall so deeply in love with him that it actually hurts? How do you make the decision to trade one child for the other? Could you? That'd be almost like telling me I could have Bella back if  I was willing to give up Jason. As much as I'd love to know her, to hold her, and kiss her, and sing to her, I'm not sure it's worth what I would lose. Is that wrong? Does it make sense? Being a bereaved parent surely is hard work. 

     The year is already half over, which means we are coming up rather quickly on her 3rd birthday. I have a lot of ideas about this one. So much I want to do. My biggest hope is to have for her a headstone. Tucked under a shady tree, a place where I can go...somewhere that's ours. I think she'd like that. A letter inside a balloon, to tell her how much I love her, and send it to the heavens. Bubbles from her brothers, with her newest little brother a part of it this time. She is his guardian, I know that. I don't believe I'd have made it through my pregnancy without her. And those fruity pebble cupcakes. The trademark of my little pebbles, my beautiful baby Bells. Someday all of this will make sense I hope. I wonder if she will always come to my mind in these ways. If my thoughts of her will always hurt, if I'll ever really understand them. Sometimes I think, probably not. 

You have every reason to be happy, so why do you cry?: Dealing with "the big p"!

I have a brand new baby boy. He's got fire red hair and facial expressions that could bring a smile to anyone's face. He's soft and snuggly, and he smells of formula and baby lotion. He's perfect...everything I could have ever asked for and more...

So....Why am I so sad? It's a little frustrating, and honestly makes me feel like a pretty terrible parent, and an ungrateful person. I waited so long for him, prayed so hard for him, worried so much for him, and labored so intensively for him...and here he is. Only.....I can't bring myself to love on him. And then I think back to my Bells. Who I so longed to hold, and who I lost. WHY should I feeling this way? Shouldn't I be grateful for this second chance? Shouldn't I be embracing every SINGLE second of him, every minute that he's little? Shouldn't I pull him close and nestle myself into his neck...and be intoxicated by his smell? Then why aren't I? How many of my friends would kill to have a soft, sweet baby in their arms? How many of them would love to shower their affection and attention and maternal instincts on someone? And here I am wasting it....

This is such an intensely terrifying feeling. I feel angry all the time. I feel sad that I'm angry. I feel disconnected. From everyone. From this beautiful baby. From his older brothers. From their daddy. I can't seem to get it together, I can't seem to do small things, that should be so simple. I can't make a bottle without having a breakdown, I can't hear him crying without crying with him. I'm together enough to know that I have a problem, and together enough to  know what that problem is. I suffer from Post Partum Depression. That's right. The Big "P". And although I was at first, I'm not longer afraid to admit it. I realize what a big deal it is, and how hard it is, as a mother of a new baby to say those words. "I know I'm supposed to be happy, this is supposed to be the most exciting time of my life...and yet....all I want to do is cry." I realize how hard it is to face to judgement. From those you love, from your spouse, from yourself. I think the hardest part has been how hard I am on myself. Not only am I dealing with the things that come with this issue, I'm dealing with the guilt and self doubt that I have because I'm feeling this way. The truth is though, that I'm not alone. There are women all over the world suffering from PPD, and far worse than I have it.

The biggest problem I imagine is that I just don't feel like I can do anything right. I don't feel like I matter to anyone, like I'm important. What can I contribute to this little life when the life I have isn't much to be excited about. I'm 25 years old, and I haven't accomplished much. The last few years of my life have been hard, and I don't consider them a success. What can I teach him about being a grown up when I don't even know that much? How can I raise any of these kids to be decent, productive people, when I don't even feel like I am. It's a hard pill to swallow, yet I do...everyday. I wake up at 0530, for the babies first feeding of the day. I stare at him as he eats...anticipating the day before me. After his feeding, I lay him in bed next to his daddy, head into the kitchen to have a cup of coffee. During which, I wake up my other two boys, and attempt to get them dressed for the day. Once they're dressed, they sit down for breakfast, at which point I get little red dressed for the day. It's hard to get going, it's hard to function, but I do it, and for that at least, I am proud. By the end of these long days, I fall into bed, and pray for sleep. Sleep that doesn't always come because of the anxiety that comes with having a new baby. And...this new found anxiety that the house has to be spotless clean at all times. No dirt on the floor, nothing on the counters, no dishes in the sink. It drives me nuts. It keeps me up nights if it's not done before I go to bed. It's an insane feeling.

I don't think I ever realized what a big deal this could be until I began feeling it this strongly. Sometimes all I want to do is sit somewhere where it's really quiet and cry it out until it's not there anymore, and then go  on with my life. I wanna talk to someone, I wanna know what to say. I wanna make sense. I wanna feel something that makes sense. Bah, well enough rambling I guess. The point in all this was simple. PPD is just like any other "illness" out there. It's depression, and it's serious. If you or anyone you know is a new mother, and things just don't seem right, encourage that person to get help, or seek help yourself. Talk to them, don't sit by idle...because you don't know how just a little help, and little intervention might help....it could make all the difference in the world.
 

Introducing: Owen James William Gilman

This is Owen. I can say with much certainty that he has already won my heart. When he was only a day or so old, I coined him "Lil Red", and it seems fitting to me. He's the spitting image of his daddy, and when you put the two of them together, there's no denying that he's a mini Daniel. 

There have been a few people asking how he came to be (as in...his birth story) and how we're doing now. So---to update family and friends, here I go:

On March 13, 2013, at about 830 pm, my water broke. Hard to explain this as anything except for totally disgusting. And it stayed disgusting for a long time after that. LOL. I told Daniel I needed a shower before I went ANYWHERE, because I had no idea how long it would be before I was going to get another one. We headed into the hospital after that, where they did the test to confirm that my water had broken. It was positive, and once that was done, they brought the doctor in. In my life, I couldn't have possibly asked for a better OB to deliver Owen. She was amazing. They moved me from OB Triage to L&D, and hooked up my IV right away. After that, they started me on IV fluids and a pitocin drip. We all rested, watching TV and getting as much sleep as we could as the pitocin increased and the contractions got stronger and stronger. The doctor came in about 1am and checked me again to find that my cervix wasn't changing at ALL and I was REALLY uncomfortable. We couldn't figure out what the deal was. Checking on little Owen a little closer, we realized he was pretty far up, and apparently not interested in coming anytime soon. We all decided that that was okay with us, but we opted for the epidural so that I could at least get some rest. The anesthesiologist came in to do the epidural, and before I knew it, I was laying in bed resting. Feeling the contractions, but not feeling any pain...it was wonderful. They attached a fetal heart monitor to baby internally so that we could monitor him, since he didn't want to stay on, and a monitor that would tell us exactly what the contractions were doing to my cervix each time they came. We all continued to rest, until about 20 minutes or so to 3am. The doctor came in again and told me they were going to check me again, and see if we were making any progress. At this check, I was a good 6, but still not progressing as quickly as I should have been. It was frustrating. She left for a quick minute and then came back, a little concerned. She told me that baby's heart rate was decelerating with each contraction, which is the opposite of what it's supposed to do. She checked me one more time, and told me he felt pretty low for 6. She told me she'd be back, and we'd decide where to go from there. At 5 minutes to 3am, I woke up Daniel and told him I needed him. The doctors were worried about our little man, that maybe the cord was wrapped somewhere...one way or the other, he was in distress, and that wasn't okay. The doctor came back in and told us her plan of attack. We trusted her fully, and were willing to do what she thought was best. And so, at just 6 cm dilated, I was instructed to bear down, and see if little Owen would come down with my push. If he did, we were going to push him out. 6 cm or not. And we were going to do it fast. If he didn't, then we were going to the OR for a C-Section. Either way, we were getting this baby out, NOW. The few minutes after that are kind of a blur to me, and the entire 24 hours after that are pretty fuzzy. What I remember goes like this: They put me on oxygen because my levels were low, I had the shakes that I nearly couldn't control, and I was terrified and tired. The anesthesiologist came back in, gave me another dose of the epi medicine, and I wasn't feeling as much pain anymore. The doctor instructed me to push, and I did...and then baby got stuck. His heart rate continued to decelerate, and as hard as I pushed, I couldn't get him out. Crying, I told her I just couldn't do it, I didn't have it in me. She looked at me, with a look I will NEVER forget and told me "You have to. We have to get him out, NOW." I remember something clicking in my head, and I thought of Isabella. All I could think was that I had come this far, I had waited this long, and I was going to lose him. And that was going to happen because I wasn't strong enough. Because I did something wrong. And that wasn't going to happen. So, I took one more deep breath and one more push. With a LOT of help from the doc, we got little Owen out, and she put him on my chest. Seeing him, she laughed and said "This little monster was playing with us." It turns out, his cord was no where near his neck, and far as we could tell, he was in no immediate danger. He was crying, he was alert, he was pink...he was everything a baby should be. And...he was in a hurry. They took him away from me, and to the table to clean him up, and measure him, and make him cry some more. 

I could see the conflict in Daniel's eyes as I looked at him, he wasn't sure whether to go to his newborn son, or to stay with me, who wasn't doing very well. The only words I remember saying to him were "Go see your baby." And I meant that. You only have your first born child one time, and I didn't want him to miss a single second of that. After we got the baby out, the doctor focused her attention on me. I delivered the placenta, and immediately started feeling a little better. Until....we couldn't get the bleeding to stop. After soaking through 10 rags in delivery, the doctor told me that I had cervical tearing, and would need to go to the OR.  This meant more anesthesia, and who knows how long before I would get to hold my new baby boy. Farther than that, I have little recollection. I know they took me to OR, I know they gave me a generous amount of anesthesia, and I know that I can't tell you more than 5 things about my son on the very first day of his life. Thank god his daddy was so amazing and was there to take care of him. This is a picture of me the first time I held my son, and I don't even remember it. 

The recovering process has been slow. I've been up and about, but I lost a lot of blood, and there is certainly a lot of pain that comes with the type of surgery I had to have. Owen is doing beautifully now though, and continues to be the biggest blessing. I will never forget the feeling of thinking I was going to lose him, and I don't take it for granted at all that he's here and that he's ok. Every day he grows and changes, and makes me love him even more. I'm a lucky mommy and I know that. I know that Bella was with us in that delivery room, in the operating room with me, and everyday as her baby brother grows and develops. We have a real life angel, and we couldn't be more blessed for that.