Last Monday marked the two-year anniversary of my second miscarriage. A dear friend, who was right beside me during that dark time, stopped by with flowers. More specifically, she brought me an enormous hanging basket of fuchsias, one of my favorites. I confess, until I opened the front door and saw Erica there, I had forgotten what day it was. While I felt a bit guilty at first, I realized it signified something I am deeply grateful for: I am healing.
I decided to re-pot the fuchsia into a large terracotta planter, so it wouldn't be battered by the wind that blows hard against our north-facing front porch. I was initially heartsick by how roughed-up it got, how many delicate pink-and-purple blossoms and even branches broke off in the transition. I admit I even cried when I gathered them all up. The branches that were left seemed to stick out at odd angles and the plant just didn't look as lush and happy. Erica assured me fuchsias are hardy, that new branches would grow back, and over the next few days as I watered it faithfully, new buds and leaves did indeed appear.
Then, yesterday afternoon, I found out someone very close to me had suffered a miscarriage. My heart aches for her, because I know. I know. I haven't had the chance to talk to her yet, but thinking about what I would say--and more specifically what I would not say--got me thinking about what I have learned from my miscarriages.
If you have experienced miscarriage or stillbirth, or if you know someone who has, I hope these words may be helpful navigating through the grief, or comforting someone who is trying to do so.
1. There is no "good time" to lose a baby. My first miscarriage was at almost eight weeks and my second at nineteen. I grieved for each baby differently, but each was equally precious to me. The first one wasn't "easier" just because I didn't know the gender, or because I hadn't felt it move yet. In some ways, that was almost harder--because I felt like I didn't even know this dear little person who left me far too soon.
2. People are going to be insensitive. I was surprised that some of the worst offenders were loved ones and people from church--those I expected would be more compassionate and sensitive. People I hardly knew offered to lend me books on grief. Books on weight loss. Folks who had heard I was pregnant, but not that I had lost the baby, congratulated me. Women who had miscarriages of their own took it as an open invitation to regale me with their stories--which I might have been ready for later, but at the time I was lost in my own sad story. I was told all kinds of things, some of them outright lies and others that were painfully true. I must not be a good enough mother to get another baby, God must be trying to teach me something I hadn't learned yet, my tribulation would help me have greater empathy for people I knew who had miscarried. That last one? True, but oh, the timing! No grieving mother needs to hear how her loss will help her to be more understanding to others; that realization comes with time and healing. In spite of having my feelings wounded even more deeply, I found relief in letting go. And I learned to say, "I'm sorry, but that's not helpful to me right now."
3. People are going to be amazingly sensitive, generous, and kind. I was the grateful and humbled recipient of meals, flowers, phone calls, gifts, emails, childcare, and Erica--the one with the fuchsias--came to the hospital with a tiny blanket she had made for me to wrap my baby in. I was surprised that sometimes the ones who had at first been insensitive later did things that touched me deeply. What meant the most were those who came to just sit with me in my grief: right after I got home from the ultrasound, at the doctor appointment the next day, in the hospital while I waited to go into labor, and in the weeks and months after. Sometimes I didn't want to talk, sometimes I did--and I appreciated so much those who were there to bear the burden with me in whatever way I needed at that moment. I learned to accept offers of help, and even to reach out and ask for what I needed.
4. Name the baby. A friend called me after my first miscarriage and gently asked if I would be interested in a book she had heard about, Naming the Child: Hope-filled Reflections on Miscarriage, Stillbirth and Infant Death, by Jenny Schroedel. She sent me a link so I could check out the description, and later gave the book to me. I found that choosing meaningful names for my babies helped me feel more connected to them, which in turn gave me some desperately needed closure about losing them.
5. Women and men grieve differently. My husband was not devastated the way I was at the loss of either baby. Rather than being resentful, I was grateful because he was stronger than me and I could lean on him. I learned to ask specifically for what I needed to work through my own grief, and I did my best to ask Jim about his own feelings and respect his needs. My biggest mistake was holding back my grief instead of sharing it with him as fully as I needed to. Months after my miscarriage, I was worried he wouldn't understand why I was still hurting or would think I just needed to get over it, so for a long time I didn't share my feelings with him--which was unfair to both him and me. Once I opened up, I was able to move forward with healing inside.
6. Healing takes time. Lots and lots of time. With both miscarriages, I reached a certain point where I told myself, "You should be over this by now. Move on." Later, I came to realize that getting on with the day-to-day business of my life--caring for myself, my family, my home and my other obligations--could happen while I was still grieving. I tried hard to be open with my kids about what I was going through so that they would know it was okay to talk about their own feelings of sadness. I took small steps at re-entering society: shopping at the grocery store, taking my kids to the park, going to the library. Sometimes I found I was doing too much too soon; I wasn't ready to see my pregnant friends and all the babies at church, so I stayed home on Sundays. For weeks. I didn't put a statute of limitations on my sadness, and I found that letting it take as long as it needed to allowed me to grieve more fully and ultimately, to heal more fully.
Showing posts with label pregnancy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label pregnancy. Show all posts
Monday, June 18, 2012
Friday, August 19, 2011
Dinner paradigm shift
To say my relationship with food is complicated is an understatement, and of all the things that perplex me, cooking dinner tops the list. I love to eat, to cook for the holidays, and to cook for company or take dinner to friends when they're sick or have had a baby. When I know the people I'm cooking for will enjoy what I'm preparing, I find myself taking creative pleasure in trying new dishes and experimenting to improve old favorites. Making everyday dinners, though, is at best a perfunctory task, and most nights frustrating and exhausting.
I can't pinpoint the precise time I started to dread dinner, but I can trace it back to puberty, when my mom went back to college and work. I had to take on dinner duty several nights a week and like a typical teen, I chafed at the unwanted responsibility. That early resentment has informed my attitude about cooking dinner ever since.
When I first got married, it was challenging to cook for a husband who had strong prejudices against certain foods (many of them my favorites) but was reluctant to tell me for fear of offending his new bride. During the early years of our marriage, I struggled to find things we both liked while still injecting some variety into our menu; I could only eat spaghetti so many nights a week. I found a solution that seemed to work for a while: I created a monthly meal calendar of recipes we both could live with, so we only ate the same dish once a month.
When we had children, though, the monthly meal calendar no longer seemed to work. Not only were we on a tighter budget, but even more challenging, I had three disparate palates besides my own to satisfy. Some nights, out of desperation, I became a short order cook, making one meal for me and Jim and two additional, separate meals for Jimmy and Audrey. Even then, no one seemed pleased--especially not me.
Jim and I have come up with a few strategies to cope, but none of them is a complete fix. Each week I sit down with him, the kids and the ads from the local grocer, and ask for their input in deciding on what dinners we'll eat for the week. That way I can try to cater to their requests while taking advantage of what's on sale.
Each child also has one night a week that is "their" night: they get to choose what's for dinner--and originally the idea was for them to help cook dinner, too, though I've been less successful at implementing that part of the plan. Often, however, I still wind up preparing a separate meal for at least one person because Audrey will request chicken nuggets every time it's her night, and no one else likes them--or she refuses to eat what Jimmy has chosen for his night. Even with one night where they do get to choose, there are still six nights of "But Mo-om, I don't like this," and it wears me down. I look at blogs, food shows, and my go-to website, Allrecipes.com, and try to introduce new dishes, but it's a challenge to find ones that make everyone happy.
So, we buy a lot of Dino-nuggets at Costco for Audrey--and make a lot of peanut-butter-Nutella sandwiches for Jimmy.
Meanwhile, my resentment about cooking dinner has continued to grow. My blood pressure rises automatically at 5 p.m. As a matter of course, I tend to banish everyone from the kitchen while I prepare dinner just to have some peace and quiet so I can tend to a task I don't enjoy as quickly as possible. I am usually short with everyone while I cook and during the entire meal. If we're in a hurry to get somewhere after dinner (cub scouts, soccer practice, piano lessons), I get even more stressed out.
Add pregnancy to the mix... and yeah, the last several months have been rough. Jim has taken pity on me and we usually eat out about once a week, or he gives me a break by doing the cooking.
The upshot of all this is I'm suddenly finding myself in a place where I feel ready to change things up. Our dinner problem has been going on for years now, and I have had no idea how to fix it, but I want to--and I want a permanent fix.
If it's me that has to change for it to get fixed, so be it. While the timing isn't ideal because I'm pregnant and don't have a lot of energy, somehow being in a place in my life that is intrinsically creative (i.e., nurturing a new life) is helping me to think creatively in terms of solving this problem. I've been brainstorming, reading, bouncing ideas off Jim, and tweaking the things that are already working to see if I can take them further.
I just started reading a wonderful cookbook, Mad Hungry: Feeding Men and Boys, by Lucinda Scala Quinn. Most of the recipes are for delicious but uncomplicated meals with basic ingredients--but even if none of them appeal to our family, what I'm really going to take away from the book is the author's philosophy that well-made meals can be an extension of our love for our families only when they are prepared joyfully and used as a teaching and bonding time between parents and children. Tonight we're test-driving, at Jimmy's request, a recipe from the book for short ribs, and I'm going to do my best to budget my time and have him in the kitchen with me.
I want dinner to be fun again. For all of us.
I can't pinpoint the precise time I started to dread dinner, but I can trace it back to puberty, when my mom went back to college and work. I had to take on dinner duty several nights a week and like a typical teen, I chafed at the unwanted responsibility. That early resentment has informed my attitude about cooking dinner ever since.
When I first got married, it was challenging to cook for a husband who had strong prejudices against certain foods (many of them my favorites) but was reluctant to tell me for fear of offending his new bride. During the early years of our marriage, I struggled to find things we both liked while still injecting some variety into our menu; I could only eat spaghetti so many nights a week. I found a solution that seemed to work for a while: I created a monthly meal calendar of recipes we both could live with, so we only ate the same dish once a month.
When we had children, though, the monthly meal calendar no longer seemed to work. Not only were we on a tighter budget, but even more challenging, I had three disparate palates besides my own to satisfy. Some nights, out of desperation, I became a short order cook, making one meal for me and Jim and two additional, separate meals for Jimmy and Audrey. Even then, no one seemed pleased--especially not me.
Jim and I have come up with a few strategies to cope, but none of them is a complete fix. Each week I sit down with him, the kids and the ads from the local grocer, and ask for their input in deciding on what dinners we'll eat for the week. That way I can try to cater to their requests while taking advantage of what's on sale.
Each child also has one night a week that is "their" night: they get to choose what's for dinner--and originally the idea was for them to help cook dinner, too, though I've been less successful at implementing that part of the plan. Often, however, I still wind up preparing a separate meal for at least one person because Audrey will request chicken nuggets every time it's her night, and no one else likes them--or she refuses to eat what Jimmy has chosen for his night. Even with one night where they do get to choose, there are still six nights of "But Mo-om, I don't like this," and it wears me down. I look at blogs, food shows, and my go-to website, Allrecipes.com, and try to introduce new dishes, but it's a challenge to find ones that make everyone happy.
So, we buy a lot of Dino-nuggets at Costco for Audrey--and make a lot of peanut-butter-Nutella sandwiches for Jimmy.
Meanwhile, my resentment about cooking dinner has continued to grow. My blood pressure rises automatically at 5 p.m. As a matter of course, I tend to banish everyone from the kitchen while I prepare dinner just to have some peace and quiet so I can tend to a task I don't enjoy as quickly as possible. I am usually short with everyone while I cook and during the entire meal. If we're in a hurry to get somewhere after dinner (cub scouts, soccer practice, piano lessons), I get even more stressed out.
Add pregnancy to the mix... and yeah, the last several months have been rough. Jim has taken pity on me and we usually eat out about once a week, or he gives me a break by doing the cooking.
The upshot of all this is I'm suddenly finding myself in a place where I feel ready to change things up. Our dinner problem has been going on for years now, and I have had no idea how to fix it, but I want to--and I want a permanent fix.
If it's me that has to change for it to get fixed, so be it. While the timing isn't ideal because I'm pregnant and don't have a lot of energy, somehow being in a place in my life that is intrinsically creative (i.e., nurturing a new life) is helping me to think creatively in terms of solving this problem. I've been brainstorming, reading, bouncing ideas off Jim, and tweaking the things that are already working to see if I can take them further.
I just started reading a wonderful cookbook, Mad Hungry: Feeding Men and Boys, by Lucinda Scala Quinn. Most of the recipes are for delicious but uncomplicated meals with basic ingredients--but even if none of them appeal to our family, what I'm really going to take away from the book is the author's philosophy that well-made meals can be an extension of our love for our families only when they are prepared joyfully and used as a teaching and bonding time between parents and children. Tonight we're test-driving, at Jimmy's request, a recipe from the book for short ribs, and I'm going to do my best to budget my time and have him in the kitchen with me.
I want dinner to be fun again. For all of us.
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
Keeping busy
Last Thursday I got the top of the baby quilt pieced and pinned to the other layers. Next, I had to figure out what design I wanted to use for quilting. Rather than just the diagonal lines suggested in the pattern, I wanted something more memorable. Jim talked me out of X's and O's (apparently a bit "too girly") but I riffed off that and came up with appropriately masculine X's and stars.
Last Friday I started hand-quilting and have been working at it slow but steady all weekend. I'm almost a third of the way done, and the design is really starting to take shape.
The callouses on my fingertips are coming along nicely, too.
Thursday, July 21, 2011
Baby quilt
Both Jimmy and Audrey have red, white and blue baby quilts. Jimmy's was made by my mom, and I finished Audrey's the week before she was born. So, of course, Joseph needs to have a red, white and blue baby quilt, too.
Did I mention we picked out a name? (with the caveat from Jim that he may still change his mind.)
A while back I found a couple of simple, free baby quilt patterns online. I based Audrey's birthday quilt loosely on the "Furrows" pattern, and have been excited to try out the "Sunshine and Shadows". I picked this pattern because it would go together so quickly and be easy to both sew and hand-quilt, but made a few alterations for the color scheme I chose.
I just finished cutting out all the squares this morning, laid them out, and am planning to get most of the top pieced tonight.
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
30 weeks...
...means it's ultrasound time again. Sorry, no pix--but the baby's grown so much we could only look at one part of him at at time: a leg, a beating heart, his abdomen and so on. In fact, his head was so big it took up the whole screen in the top-down shot my doctor used to measure the circumference of his cranium. This ultrasound was all about taking measurements to make sure the baby's growing on track (which he is) and not getting too big from the gestational diabetes (which he's not).
Just two months to go... good thing I got started on the baby quilt today!
Just two months to go... good thing I got started on the baby quilt today!
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
Tightwad tuedsay: DIY takeout
Way back in the day when Jim and I were still childless, in college, and both working full-time (read: rolling in cash but short on time to cook) we used to get takeout at least once a week from our favorite Chinese restaurant, Toy's Cafe in Bellevue. My favorite was their green beans sautéed with garlic--and every once in a while I'd spring for the extra couple bucks to get the beans with shrimp. Mmmm.
Don't worry; there is a tightwad tip at the end of this tale fraught with wanton outlay of cash!
Last Wednesday, we went out to lunch at the local Chinese buffet and I was heartbroken to find they no longer served green beans, which are still a favorite of mine, and which I've been craving lately in a big way. Fortunately, a while back, we asked the waiter how they make the beans, and he gave us a list of ingredients (fresh beans, chicken broth, soy sauce, garlic, sesame oil, vegetable oil and cornstarch). It was easy to look up the technique online (cook the beans for 7-8 minutes in hot oil, until the skins start to pucker, then add the ingredients for the sauce).
The very next day I hit the supermarket and picked up all the ingredients and yes, I splurged on a pound of EZ-peel prawns to make it special. Worth every penny, and still far less expensive than ordering takeout!
So, if you're pregnant (or not) and craving one of your favorite restaurant dishes, save yourself some cash by taking a few minutes to research how to make it yourself. You may get lucky, like we did, and get tips from a helpful waiter or waitress. Or, if you fancy something from a big fast food chain, there are websites specializing in clones of "secret" recipes, such as Todd Wilbur's aptly titled Top Secret Recipes.
Don't worry; there is a tightwad tip at the end of this tale fraught with wanton outlay of cash!
Last Wednesday, we went out to lunch at the local Chinese buffet and I was heartbroken to find they no longer served green beans, which are still a favorite of mine, and which I've been craving lately in a big way. Fortunately, a while back, we asked the waiter how they make the beans, and he gave us a list of ingredients (fresh beans, chicken broth, soy sauce, garlic, sesame oil, vegetable oil and cornstarch). It was easy to look up the technique online (cook the beans for 7-8 minutes in hot oil, until the skins start to pucker, then add the ingredients for the sauce).
The very next day I hit the supermarket and picked up all the ingredients and yes, I splurged on a pound of EZ-peel prawns to make it special. Worth every penny, and still far less expensive than ordering takeout!
So, if you're pregnant (or not) and craving one of your favorite restaurant dishes, save yourself some cash by taking a few minutes to research how to make it yourself. You may get lucky, like we did, and get tips from a helpful waiter or waitress. Or, if you fancy something from a big fast food chain, there are websites specializing in clones of "secret" recipes, such as Todd Wilbur's aptly titled Top Secret Recipes.
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
Tightwad tuesday: two-fer
As in, two-fer-the-price-of-one. It's been such a long time since I've posted any tightwad tips, I'm throwing in an extra one free of charge.
Some of my favorite tightwad tips are the original ones that are hundreds of years old and sprang from the necessities of every day life. The two I'm trotting out today:
- Re-purpose old clothing into something new
- If you don't know a skill/have what you need, barter with someone who does
The inspiration behind these two tips is a project I've been sewing, off and on, for a couple months now: a birthday quilt for Jimmy. It's made from old pairs of jeans in shades of red, white and blue denim. I usually have a few pairs of ratty, worn-out jeans around just to cut up and make into patches for mending small holes and tears, since kids are so hard on their clothes--but for a couple years now I've been stockpiling old jeans with the plan of turning them into a nice, heavy quilt for Jimmy. It's great to have an abundant supply of sturdy fabric without having to go out and spend any extra cash for it. Though just to add some variety and texture, I bought a couple pairs of striped denim shorts at the local Goodwill and cut those up to mix in with the solid denim.
I got the idea for the pattern from a lovely vintage cotton summer quilt my step-mom Lo gave me, but I decided to double the scale (six-inch squares instead of three-inch squares), as well as making it in a heavier fabric. Instead of hand-quilting it, I'm going to tie it with red cotton yarn. The backing will be a wonderful piece of soft, blue-striped fabric that has a fleecy feel very similar to flannel, which I picked up at Goodwill for a couple dollars.
It's a relatively simple nine-patch design that alternates a solid block with a nine-patch block throughout the quilt. If you're a beginning quilter or (like me) just want something that will go together fast and simple, this is the perfect pattern. If you have a rotary cutter and board, it's very quick to cut out the fabric in strips, and then into squares. Even if you don't know how to sew, this would be a great place to start, as you only have to sew in a straight line: easy-peasy.
Which brings me to tip #2: if you don't know how to sew, barter with someone who does by offering to do something of value to them, such as cooking, baby-sitting or housework. Sewing is one of those homey skills long out of vogue, but now being re-embraced as people realize how liberating it is to be able to custom-make what you want or need, when you want it.
I started this back in mid-March, but was still experiencing a lot of pregnancy-related fatigue and wound up putting the project on the back burner just so I could conserve the small amount of energy I did have to get us through the end of the school year. Now we're done with school, Jimmy is at Cub Scout day camp this week, and I figured it was the perfect time to cross this quilt off my to-do list. I finished cutting out the last of the squares yesterday, so for the next couple days, I'll be busy sewing, tying and binding.
Yes, I'm nesting; can you tell?
Saturday, June 04, 2011
g.d. again
I'll be six months along tomorrow, and I went in this past Tuesday for my monthly check-up. Everything looks and sounds good (mom with low blood pressure? check! baby with strong heartbeat? check!)
While I was there, my doc told me it was that time again: time for a glucose screen. I went in the following morning, and then got a call the next day to come in again, this time for the super-duper extra-fun extended test complete with four blood draws in three hours. The verdict? No surprise; I have gestational diabetes.
I have to say, I was expecting it, having had it with Audrey--but I'm feeling a lot more relaxed about it than last time. The hassle of poking myself and using the glucometer is actually pretty minimal, and it's good to have an additional incentive to be careful about what I eat.
What matters most is making sure this baby is healthy, and the best way to do that is to make sure I am.
While I was there, my doc told me it was that time again: time for a glucose screen. I went in the following morning, and then got a call the next day to come in again, this time for the super-duper extra-fun extended test complete with four blood draws in three hours. The verdict? No surprise; I have gestational diabetes.
I have to say, I was expecting it, having had it with Audrey--but I'm feeling a lot more relaxed about it than last time. The hassle of poking myself and using the glucometer is actually pretty minimal, and it's good to have an additional incentive to be careful about what I eat.
What matters most is making sure this baby is healthy, and the best way to do that is to make sure I am.
Monday, May 23, 2011
No news = good news
I haven't posted lately, mostly because I've been keeping my head down and powering through the last few weeks of the school year. Jimmy (with a whole heaping helping of micromanagement) has cranked out three science biographies in the last three weeks: Anton Van Leeuwenhoek (the first page of three is above), Florence Nightingale and Elijah McCoy. We'll be starting a fourth (George Washington Carver) tomorrow. Only a week until our last day of school!
The other reason is the absence of anything noteworthy to comment on--which is a good thing. I'm at 22 weeks as of yesterday, the baby is kicking up a storm, and--nothing else.
Here's to no news!
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
20 weeks...
...means it's ultrasound time. While you can't tell from the scan above, this one is definitely a boy. As soon as we found out, Jimmy let out a whoop--but Audrey cried all the way home in the car.Good thing we've got another 20 weeks to go, so she has time to get over it.
Oh, and so Jim and I have time to come to some kind of agreement on what to name this kid.
Sunday, April 17, 2011
NaPoWriMo #15: oxymoron
Earlier in the month, NaPoWriMo.net offered this prompt: use an oxymoron as the basis for your poem. They provided a convenient link to the Serendipitous Oxymoron Maker, which generated for me among others, "miserable miracle". I filed that away in my notes, waiting for it to settle and speak to me.
Then, last night, after our public library's first annual National Poetry Month open mic, I was chatting with my friend Elizabeth about what I'd been writing lately. For the open mic, I read two older poems, as well as the newly penned Lacuna, which generated some great feedback. Elizabeth has read most of the poetry I've written about my miscarriages, and she asked if I'd written anything recently about being pregnant. I had to say no.
I've reflected on it lately, knowing I want to write about my pregnancy, but just not sure where I want to go with it--which is what I told Elizabeth. Well, here's a start--today I looked at "miserable miracle" and it suddenly said something.
Miserable Miracle
In this
my fifth and final pregnancy
I am reminded
of the miserable miracle
it is to bear children
how
from the moment
I feel in my gut
conscious without knowing
the presence of this life
I sense, too
a combined weight
of joy and sorrow
how
I recognize my own lack
of power to prevent
what I dread most
frees me from the burden
of trying to stop it
how
each day of nausea
when my stomach rebels
at any given sight or smell
is a gift
because it means
my child continues
to grow
how
I have learned to hope
in the face of uncertainty
because anything less than nine months
may be too short of a time
to carry a child
but it is too long to carry fear
how
my body is possessed
changing in ways
I can’t control or fathom
opening its petals
in the radiance
of its own private sun
how
my soul enlarges
in the realization
that in spite
and because of
this transformation
my heart, like my body
is stretching beyond
what it has ever known.
Then, last night, after our public library's first annual National Poetry Month open mic, I was chatting with my friend Elizabeth about what I'd been writing lately. For the open mic, I read two older poems, as well as the newly penned Lacuna, which generated some great feedback. Elizabeth has read most of the poetry I've written about my miscarriages, and she asked if I'd written anything recently about being pregnant. I had to say no.
I've reflected on it lately, knowing I want to write about my pregnancy, but just not sure where I want to go with it--which is what I told Elizabeth. Well, here's a start--today I looked at "miserable miracle" and it suddenly said something.
Miserable Miracle
In this
my fifth and final pregnancy
I am reminded
of the miserable miracle
it is to bear children
how
from the moment
I feel in my gut
conscious without knowing
the presence of this life
I sense, too
a combined weight
of joy and sorrow
how
I recognize my own lack
of power to prevent
what I dread most
frees me from the burden
of trying to stop it
how
each day of nausea
when my stomach rebels
at any given sight or smell
is a gift
because it means
my child continues
to grow
how
I have learned to hope
in the face of uncertainty
because anything less than nine months
may be too short of a time
to carry a child
but it is too long to carry fear
how
my body is possessed
changing in ways
I can’t control or fathom
opening its petals
in the radiance
of its own private sun
how
my soul enlarges
in the realization
that in spite
and because of
this transformation
my heart, like my body
is stretching beyond
what it has ever known.
Thursday, April 07, 2011
NaPoWriMo #7: curriculum vitae
My friend Steve from my poetry group recently finished an excellent CV poem and challenged the rest of us to try it. I did one for NaPoWriMo last year, but recently I've been ruminating on a different direction to take on the concept--my CV as a mother.
How appropriate that pregnancy was the catalyst to get me writing this; at 3:30 this morning I woke up after a particularly bizarre dream and found myself with insomnia (both things that happen often when I'm expecting).
Written when and how this was , it is a very, very rough first draft. In fact, as I read it, I'm almost not wanting to post it because I realize it's an uneven mix of imagery and narrative--but that's the beauty of NaPoWriMo. I write a lot of fresh, raw stuff, and figure out what works, what doesn't and what has the potential to be developed further.
Resume of a Reluctant Mother
I was born the first of five children
to a good man and good woman
who were each lonely before marriage
and lonelier after.
My early childhood was a happy haze
of beaches, blackberries and books.
My father had an unnamed rage
used the belt on us
like an artist uses paint on canvas
but sang us to sleep at bedtime.
My mother had an unnamed sorrow
her children couldn't know or fix
gave us no boundaries
but sewed our clothes
and baked bread in yeast cans.
The last half of my childhood
I spent as a third parent
while my mother and father took turns
trying to run away
from discontent at home.
I was babysitter, cook
laundry washer and ironer
tyrannical big sister
and unwilling partaker
in my parents' disaffection.
When I was sixteen
my father and mother gave up the fight
of staying together for their children
and for a year or two
we were all happier.
At the end of my senior year
my parents remarried
within a month of each other.
We stayed with my mother and stepfather
got four new brothers and sisters
grieving a mother lost to cancer
just a year before.
I was still the oldest
and at eighteen, took my own turn
running away from home.
At twenty-five I married
terrified but hopeful
I would not repeat my parents' mistakes.
Instead, I made my own.
I waited too long to have children
traded stamina and immaturity
for patience and rigidity.
In the end it was a fair trade
for motherhood came hard to me.
I thought it would be different
with my own children
if I chose to have them
loved them because they were mine.
Instead, I found myself
living out my own unnamed sorrow
one that brought back the agony
of responsibilities I hadn't chosen or wanted
except this time, I had.
This time, I could only blame myself.
I could, and did
but now I'm done blaming.
I've decided this story will have a happy ending.
I've decided sorrow and joy can and do coexist.
I've decided I can be a mother
without that being who I am.
I've decided I can love my children
my husband and myself
all at the same time
because I have enough love to go around.
I've decided to let go of resentment
again and again
as many times as it takes.
I've decided to be grateful to my parents.
I've decided to make peace
with my mistakes and flaws
for they have shaped me but do not define me.
I've decided that while I didn't always know
I wanted to be a mother
I do now.
How appropriate that pregnancy was the catalyst to get me writing this; at 3:30 this morning I woke up after a particularly bizarre dream and found myself with insomnia (both things that happen often when I'm expecting).
Written when and how this was , it is a very, very rough first draft. In fact, as I read it, I'm almost not wanting to post it because I realize it's an uneven mix of imagery and narrative--but that's the beauty of NaPoWriMo. I write a lot of fresh, raw stuff, and figure out what works, what doesn't and what has the potential to be developed further.
Resume of a Reluctant Mother
I was born the first of five children
to a good man and good woman
who were each lonely before marriage
and lonelier after.
My early childhood was a happy haze
of beaches, blackberries and books.
My father had an unnamed rage
used the belt on us
like an artist uses paint on canvas
but sang us to sleep at bedtime.
My mother had an unnamed sorrow
her children couldn't know or fix
gave us no boundaries
but sewed our clothes
and baked bread in yeast cans.
The last half of my childhood
I spent as a third parent
while my mother and father took turns
trying to run away
from discontent at home.
I was babysitter, cook
laundry washer and ironer
tyrannical big sister
and unwilling partaker
in my parents' disaffection.
When I was sixteen
my father and mother gave up the fight
of staying together for their children
and for a year or two
we were all happier.
At the end of my senior year
my parents remarried
within a month of each other.
We stayed with my mother and stepfather
got four new brothers and sisters
grieving a mother lost to cancer
just a year before.
I was still the oldest
and at eighteen, took my own turn
running away from home.
At twenty-five I married
terrified but hopeful
I would not repeat my parents' mistakes.
Instead, I made my own.
I waited too long to have children
traded stamina and immaturity
for patience and rigidity.
In the end it was a fair trade
for motherhood came hard to me.
I thought it would be different
with my own children
if I chose to have them
loved them because they were mine.
Instead, I found myself
living out my own unnamed sorrow
one that brought back the agony
of responsibilities I hadn't chosen or wanted
except this time, I had.
This time, I could only blame myself.
I could, and did
but now I'm done blaming.
I've decided this story will have a happy ending.
I've decided sorrow and joy can and do coexist.
I've decided I can be a mother
without that being who I am.
I've decided I can love my children
my husband and myself
all at the same time
because I have enough love to go around.
I've decided to let go of resentment
again and again
as many times as it takes.
I've decided to be grateful to my parents.
I've decided to make peace
with my mistakes and flaws
for they have shaped me but do not define me.
I've decided that while I didn't always know
I wanted to be a mother
I do now.
Monday, February 07, 2011
Got peanut?
We do! I'm 7½ weeks along and lovin' (yes, I do mean lovin') every fatigued-broken-out-queasy-swollen-ankled minute of it.
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Flying solo, day #9
I went in for an ultrasound on Monday and we discovered that the baby had died. On Wednesday afternoon I was admitted to the hospital to induce delivery.
Friday night, just before 8 o'clock, I gave birth to a tiny baby boy. He weighed about 9 and a half ounces, and looked so much like Jim and Jimmy.
I got home from the hospital yesterday.
Physically, my recovery has gone smoothly--very quickly, compared to what I experienced after having Jimmy and Audrey by c-section--and that's something to be grateful for, as it's allowed my to channel my energy toward the much more arduous emotional recovery.
I've been surrounded by family and friends who have supported me, fed me, rubbed my feet, sat silently with me, held me while I sobbed, and left me alone when that was what I needed most.
Today I'll be spending a lot of time writing in my journal. I want to capture all this while it is still fresh in my mind, and before the kids return home later in the day.
All the wonderful thoughts, prayers and love being sent my way are very tangible to me, and I thank all of you. I'm getting through this, one minute at a time.
Friday night, just before 8 o'clock, I gave birth to a tiny baby boy. He weighed about 9 and a half ounces, and looked so much like Jim and Jimmy.
I got home from the hospital yesterday.
Physically, my recovery has gone smoothly--very quickly, compared to what I experienced after having Jimmy and Audrey by c-section--and that's something to be grateful for, as it's allowed my to channel my energy toward the much more arduous emotional recovery.
I've been surrounded by family and friends who have supported me, fed me, rubbed my feet, sat silently with me, held me while I sobbed, and left me alone when that was what I needed most.
Today I'll be spending a lot of time writing in my journal. I want to capture all this while it is still fresh in my mind, and before the kids return home later in the day.
All the wonderful thoughts, prayers and love being sent my way are very tangible to me, and I thank all of you. I'm getting through this, one minute at a time.
Tuesday, June 08, 2010
Flying solo, day #4
Yesterday I went in for my monthly prenatal exam, and we couldn't hear the heartbeat. My OB reassured me that often happens, for whatever reason--the location of the baby in my uterus, the placenta being in the way, etc. So he asked me to come in a couple hours later for an ultrasound, just to be sure everything was normal.
I brought Jimmy and Audrey along, thinking they'd be thrilled to get a sneak peek at their new sibling.
Right away, my doctor knew something was wrong: no movement, no heart beating. It was surreal in those first few moments, because I had felt the baby move, a gentle flutter, I thought, earlier that morning, and hadn't been worried even when the doppler didn't pick up the heartbeat.
Over the next few days I'll be undergoing a procedure to help me deliver the baby, and will probably be in the hospital for a couple days starting tomorrow afternoon. Already I've had so much support and help from family and friends, which has made this burden much more bearable. I'm so grateful to know that I'm not alone through this experience.
I also know that in the coming weeks as I sort through it all, that support will continue to be an anchor to me, as well as the deep faith inside me, which has actually grown stronger even in the last few hours. I don't know anything about how or why or what, but I know in time I'll be blessed with the grace to move forward, even not knowing.
If you call or email me and I don't pick up or respond, please know that I'm still grateful you're thinking of me--just in a very raw place right now--but no less grateful.
I brought Jimmy and Audrey along, thinking they'd be thrilled to get a sneak peek at their new sibling.
Right away, my doctor knew something was wrong: no movement, no heart beating. It was surreal in those first few moments, because I had felt the baby move, a gentle flutter, I thought, earlier that morning, and hadn't been worried even when the doppler didn't pick up the heartbeat.
Over the next few days I'll be undergoing a procedure to help me deliver the baby, and will probably be in the hospital for a couple days starting tomorrow afternoon. Already I've had so much support and help from family and friends, which has made this burden much more bearable. I'm so grateful to know that I'm not alone through this experience.
I also know that in the coming weeks as I sort through it all, that support will continue to be an anchor to me, as well as the deep faith inside me, which has actually grown stronger even in the last few hours. I don't know anything about how or why or what, but I know in time I'll be blessed with the grace to move forward, even not knowing.
If you call or email me and I don't pick up or respond, please know that I'm still grateful you're thinking of me--just in a very raw place right now--but no less grateful.
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Cocoon
I had a glucose screen last week because my OB wants to stay ahead of the game if I develop gestational diabetes again. My test results came back borderline, so I had to do the more involved 3-hour screen on Monday, with a total of four blood draws.
Because I eat so little sugar any more (usually as a minor ingredient in things like bread or condiments), these tests really took it out of me. The rush of sugar made me so sick that I was tired and nauseated for 12 hours after. It was worth it, though; the results of the 3-hour test came back negative. So at least for a little while, I'll enjoy not having to poke myself four times a day. I do fully expect to wind up with gestational diabetes later on, though.
This week I realized I've been isolating myself a bit. Not on purpose, really; more out of self-preservation. I've been wrapped up in this tight little kid-centric cocoon: potty-training Audrey, powering through the final month of the school year with Jimmy (our last day of school is June 14), and bonding with baby #3, who I can finally feel flutter-kicking inside me.
It dawned on me yesterday that I need to start reaching out even if the urge to isolate continues, because at the beginning of June, I'm staring down the barrel of two weeks of flying solo while Jim does job-related training in Atlanta. No matter how much I feel like withdrawing now, I'm going to be starved for conversation and interaction with adults by the time Jim rolls back into town on June 19.
Because I eat so little sugar any more (usually as a minor ingredient in things like bread or condiments), these tests really took it out of me. The rush of sugar made me so sick that I was tired and nauseated for 12 hours after. It was worth it, though; the results of the 3-hour test came back negative. So at least for a little while, I'll enjoy not having to poke myself four times a day. I do fully expect to wind up with gestational diabetes later on, though.
This week I realized I've been isolating myself a bit. Not on purpose, really; more out of self-preservation. I've been wrapped up in this tight little kid-centric cocoon: potty-training Audrey, powering through the final month of the school year with Jimmy (our last day of school is June 14), and bonding with baby #3, who I can finally feel flutter-kicking inside me.
It dawned on me yesterday that I need to start reaching out even if the urge to isolate continues, because at the beginning of June, I'm staring down the barrel of two weeks of flying solo while Jim does job-related training in Atlanta. No matter how much I feel like withdrawing now, I'm going to be starved for conversation and interaction with adults by the time Jim rolls back into town on June 19.
Tuesday, May 04, 2010
A day in poet's paradise
Saturday was really wonderful. I originally had two reallys before wonderful, but thought the better of it because there simply aren't enough reallys to convey how great it was; one in italics will have to suffice.
I went to an all-day poetry workshop down in Yakima with Kim Stafford, a second-generation poet and genuinely nice human being. I loved that he took the time to ask each of us attending the class what moves us to write and what we were looking for from the class and then listened and responded to each of us individually. It wasn't just touchy-feely, though; he's an incredibly gifted poet with tremendous technical skill and he shared freely from his experiences.
For this year's class I was in a relaxed, confident place, both emotionally and with my art. I feel like I've matured, particularly in my writing process and my patience with my work. Sometimes it takes a while for a poem to tell me where it's going, and I'm finally okay with that; I no longer feel the need to turn out perfect poetry right out of the gate. In fact, I recognize that it won't ever be perfect, but it will feel right when it's done.
Coming into the class with that sense was so different from last year, when I felt like the kid invited to sit at the grown-up's table for the first time, using all the wrong forks and not knowing how to make conversation but wanting somehow to prove myself. It was nice to be at ease, to relax, to mingle, and above all, to feel a sense of abundance about my writing: an abundance of things to write about, of time in which to write, and of wisdom to hone what I write into the best possible version of itself.
I also have to add, I got some of the best ever pregnancy advice from Kim. At the very end of the afternoon, he told me that his mother's doctor had prescribed for her "an hour every day spent in beauty". He said every pregnant woman needs that time surrounded by beauty so that she can pass it on to her children.
I promised Dr. Stafford I would follow his prescription.
I went to an all-day poetry workshop down in Yakima with Kim Stafford, a second-generation poet and genuinely nice human being. I loved that he took the time to ask each of us attending the class what moves us to write and what we were looking for from the class and then listened and responded to each of us individually. It wasn't just touchy-feely, though; he's an incredibly gifted poet with tremendous technical skill and he shared freely from his experiences.
For this year's class I was in a relaxed, confident place, both emotionally and with my art. I feel like I've matured, particularly in my writing process and my patience with my work. Sometimes it takes a while for a poem to tell me where it's going, and I'm finally okay with that; I no longer feel the need to turn out perfect poetry right out of the gate. In fact, I recognize that it won't ever be perfect, but it will feel right when it's done.
Coming into the class with that sense was so different from last year, when I felt like the kid invited to sit at the grown-up's table for the first time, using all the wrong forks and not knowing how to make conversation but wanting somehow to prove myself. It was nice to be at ease, to relax, to mingle, and above all, to feel a sense of abundance about my writing: an abundance of things to write about, of time in which to write, and of wisdom to hone what I write into the best possible version of itself.
I also have to add, I got some of the best ever pregnancy advice from Kim. At the very end of the afternoon, he told me that his mother's doctor had prescribed for her "an hour every day spent in beauty". He said every pregnant woman needs that time surrounded by beauty so that she can pass it on to her children.
I promised Dr. Stafford I would follow his prescription.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Friday, March 26, 2010
You heard it here first
Yesterday afternoon I went in for my eight-week prenatal check-up.
Yeah, that's right.
My OB cautioned me it was probably too early for the Doppler to pick anything up, then (mostly to humor me) he tried anyway. It took a minute or two, and then we heard the baby's heartbeat, soft but strong.
Yeah, that's right.
My OB cautioned me it was probably too early for the Doppler to pick anything up, then (mostly to humor me) he tried anyway. It took a minute or two, and then we heard the baby's heartbeat, soft but strong.
Thursday, December 03, 2009
Blue days
In the middle of November, Jim and I found out we were expecting. This was planned—I'd even go so far as to call it a carefully orchestrated attempt to thwart the thunderous ticking of my biological clock—so I was really over the moon about it. Even though I was only five and a half weeks along, I told some family and a few friends; the elation was practically bursting out of me.
On Thanksgiving afternoon, a few hours after dinner, I started spotting. And cramping. My spirits sank in fear and long before I was ready to accept it, I think my body knew exactly what was happening. That night I called my mom, who's a nurse, and she gave me good advice about taking care of myself over the next few days. I also talked to the doctor on call at my clinic (which was closed over the holiday weekend) who told me I need to watch and wait for the next few days before I could be sure I was miscarrying.
So I watched and waited.
Deep down, though, I knew. On Monday, my doctor confirmed it. I told him, intellectually I could wrap my brain around understanding this was my body's way of taking care of a fetus that wasn't developing properly, and I knew it was ultimately easier than the alternatives of losing the baby further along or giving birth to a child with health or developmental problems. Knowing that intellectually was one thing; riding the emotional roller-coaster of grief and pregnancy hormones was another entirely.
I've been surprised at how much I've pulled inward and wanted to isolate myself, how difficult it's been to get out of the house or reach out and ask for help, let alone tell people, even close friends and family. I have girlfriends and family members who've been through this, too, and I've been deeply touched by the empathy of those women who know what I'm going through. But sometimes it's too hard to talk about it, or see people with new babies, or be around mothers-to-be with their soft swelled bellies who still have their babies to look forward to.
This is completely new territory for me, and some days, some moments, I'm at a loss for how to cope. I'm so grateful, though, for those who have supported me by bringing in dinner, taking the kids to play for a few hours, calling or emailing to check in on me, or even just giving me a good hug. Thank you, thank you. And I'm grateful for a loving, patient, helpful husband who anticipates what I need and does it before I can even ask.
The only way out of grief is through, and I will get through it. Each day is a little easier than the one before and I know I can continue on one day at a time, with God's grace leading me by the hand.
On Thanksgiving afternoon, a few hours after dinner, I started spotting. And cramping. My spirits sank in fear and long before I was ready to accept it, I think my body knew exactly what was happening. That night I called my mom, who's a nurse, and she gave me good advice about taking care of myself over the next few days. I also talked to the doctor on call at my clinic (which was closed over the holiday weekend) who told me I need to watch and wait for the next few days before I could be sure I was miscarrying.
So I watched and waited.
Deep down, though, I knew. On Monday, my doctor confirmed it. I told him, intellectually I could wrap my brain around understanding this was my body's way of taking care of a fetus that wasn't developing properly, and I knew it was ultimately easier than the alternatives of losing the baby further along or giving birth to a child with health or developmental problems. Knowing that intellectually was one thing; riding the emotional roller-coaster of grief and pregnancy hormones was another entirely.
I've been surprised at how much I've pulled inward and wanted to isolate myself, how difficult it's been to get out of the house or reach out and ask for help, let alone tell people, even close friends and family. I have girlfriends and family members who've been through this, too, and I've been deeply touched by the empathy of those women who know what I'm going through. But sometimes it's too hard to talk about it, or see people with new babies, or be around mothers-to-be with their soft swelled bellies who still have their babies to look forward to.
This is completely new territory for me, and some days, some moments, I'm at a loss for how to cope. I'm so grateful, though, for those who have supported me by bringing in dinner, taking the kids to play for a few hours, calling or emailing to check in on me, or even just giving me a good hug. Thank you, thank you. And I'm grateful for a loving, patient, helpful husband who anticipates what I need and does it before I can even ask.
The only way out of grief is through, and I will get through it. Each day is a little easier than the one before and I know I can continue on one day at a time, with God's grace leading me by the hand.
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