Twenty-Three Months

My dearest Lucy,

One month from today, we should be celebrating your 2nd birthday… you should be TWO! A two-year-old little you! I can picture you, my darling girl, in my mind’s eye, bursting with life, growing like a weed, chattering away, sharing smiles to light up the world. In that alternate universe that still exists in our hearts, that’s what’s happening.

My little girl, you’re part of my everything, part of my soul. It still hurts so much that I can only just imagine you, and that all we have are just a tiny handful of memories. The memories I keep of you are my most treasured possessions. Those, along with the signs I see of you in my everyday life, are so important to me. I saw you in the butterfly that lingered today as I watered your garden, in the dragonfly that landed on your Daddy’s fingertip in the yard last night, in the kind message from cherished friends yesterday… all I have to do is look, and there you are.

I wish for more time with you, even if only in a dream where we can be together again, just for a few minutes. I miss you.

I love you always, sweet Lucy. You’re my inspiration to continue living a kind life, one filled with gratitude and love… though we didn’t have enough time together, I am forever grateful that you’re our daughter. There is no purer love than the one your Daddy and I have for you and your baby brother. Thank you for choosing us to be your parents. Happy 23 months, baby girl.

Always,

Mommy

The Day to Day

In spite of the fact that so much is going on, it feels like my words have all but dried up lately.  Somehow, the day to day business of life hasn’t really lent itself to articulation through writing.  Oddly enough, I’m mostly okay with this. I thought with this rainbow pregnancy, I’d have so much to say that the words would flow endlessly, but surprisingly, the opposite is true. Don’t get me wrong, the thoughts are there, but the words on paper or type just aren’t. I used to write in my journal almost daily, and here it is, a week into July, and I’ve not written a complete entry in it since around mid-April. I feel guilty, because I had every intention of documenting my way through this pregnancy, but it just hasn’t gone that way. I’m considering also taking a hiatus from Still Standing, though it pains me to consider it. It’s just been hard to come up with the right things to write about, and it’s becoming something I feel I’m failing at. Impossible to imagine that with the arrival of our baby boy, that I will suddenly have time and energy to pour my heart into writing. I don’t know what’s happened; it’s tough to come up with the gumption to do it when the words simply won’t come.

Clearly, nothing profound is going to result from this post, but I can at least share some of what’s been going on:

  • My dear friend Aimee came over to help organize in the nursery; it was overwhelming at first, but she helped me move forward with that and left me with the motivation to keep going with it and clear space for baby in other places in the house. The nearly-finished room almost makes the idea of bringing this boy home a tangible one. It almost seems real. I’ve even taken some tags off several items and washed some of them, which is honestly a huge step and leap of faith for me.
  • I was diagnosed with Gestational Diabetes this time around. I felt conflicted initially, but it’s become just another one of those day to day things I’ve incorporated into my routine. It’s temporary. And, I know all too well that this is least of what could go wrong. So, I’ve accepted it with a smile.
  • Baby Boy has been consistently kicking, which has quelled some of the anxiety of how he’s doing on the daily. We’ve also gotten good reports with each appointment, and have the reassurance of many more appointments from here on out. I’m so thankful for the extra support and compassion from our doctors.
  • Our purple cone flowers are absolutely bursting right now, so I’ve been picking fresh ones every few days for Lucy and putting them in her cabinet with her… it feels good to do that for her, though it’s such a small thing. Just something her and I share, I suppose.

Mostly, I’m just taking one day at a time, trying to keep my optimism at the front of my mind and doing what I can to take care of myself and this growing baby.

 

22 Months

My dearest Lucy,

Oh sweet girl, I am so, so sorry that this note is so late. The last few weeks have been a whirlwind of wrapping up school, prenatal appointments, gestational diabetes appointments, and I guess just life in general. I know you understand, but as your mommy, I feel I’ve failed you. I didn’t keep up with my monthly letter tradition this time around. It wasn’t because I haven’t been thinking of you… quite the opposite really. Your light finds me in different ways, and you’re always on my mind; I’ve thought of getting to this note countless times.

I’ve tried to start a new tradition of picking fresh flowers for you and putting them in your cabinet next to you, so you can have a little summer too. They’re safe behind the glass doors, away from your naughty cat so he can’t knock them over, as he’d be sure to do! It makes my heart happy to do that tiny little thing for you every few days. I wish I could do more. I know that when your little brother arrives, he’s going to need so much, and I worry that I won’t always get to our little traditions. I will do my best though. As we both know, love knows no boundaries, and no matter what I can actively do for you, as long as I am living, your light lives too, every moment of the day. I will try to go easy on myself with the mommy guilt, because I don’t think you’d want me to get too caught up in that.

As time gets closer to your little brother’s arrival, my heart keeps breaking just a little more because you aren’t here to experience it with us. He’ll never meet his big sister. It makes me so sad, but I’ll do everything I can to make sure he knows that you have a very important place in our family. You are so precious to us, Lucy.

I miss you so very much, I wish you were here, and you’re part of my daily life even when I can’t get to the writing. I love you so much, sweet girl.

Always,

Mommy

 

A Letter to My Rainbow

My Dear Boy,

I’ve written many things to your sister, but have yet to write to you. As I type, you are contentedly snuggled in my belly, making your sweet presence known with wiggles, kicks, and soft jabs. Your energy is already sustaining me, making me believe in the beauty of life again.

When we lost Lucy, my whole world turned black, and I never thought I’d experience joy again. The same is true for your Daddy. Yet here we are, anticipating your arrival, concentrating all the hope we have within us on bringing you safely home. We’re scared, scared that the same thing could happen to you, little one. I know someday in the distant future, you’ll find that life doesn’t always go as planned, but I hope with all of my heart that it never brings the same kind of pain to you. Losing your big sister has made us fearful of losing you too. I wish with all of my heart that she were here with us and that the two of you could grow up together. But that wasn’t the hand our family was dealt, and there’s no changing it. And so, I will spend my life pouring all of my love into you, and into keeping your big sissy’s memory alight in our family. There is nothing more important to me than that.

My love for you is endless. I am already so proud of you and cannot wait to meet you. You are so very wanted, so very loved. From the moment we knew you existed, your Daddy and I have felt a joy unlike any other. Sometimes that joy is quiet, as we worry and wait, but often, it’s overflowing from us. Though we’re scared of losing you, we’re also celebrating you as you ought to be celebrated. You are special, and not just because you are Lucy’s brother;  although I have a feeling she is so proud of you, the little brother she picked out. You are special because you are our child and because you’re you.

You have restored me, brought me back to life, made me look forward to the future. I couldn’t be more thankful for your existence, and I promise to do everything I can to make you feel loved and supported, for as long as I live. In giving you life, you have given us life. We cannot wait to meet you sweet guy, to watch you grow, thrive, and live a fulfilling life that you wish to live. You have already brought us so much hope and joy, and you’ve shown us that there are no limits on how much the heart can love. I cannot wait to see what else you’ll teach us as you grow. I love you so much, baby boy.

Always,

Mommy

Anxiety Management During Pregnancy After Loss

This journey is so full of contradictions and complexities. It’s getting difficult to document any of it because my brain is so full of mist and overwhelming thought; that, coupled with the chaos of teacher life in May, leaves little energy to write. Most days are good now, with small bursts  of grief and fear intermixed. I make no implications that it’s been easy, but at least it’s been manageable.

I’ve wrestled with whether or not to write about this topic, but I think I’ve decided to go ahead with it. While the decision to do what I’m about to write about may come with some criticism or skepticism, I think it’s important to share with other women in my situation so they can add my experience to their wealth of knowledge on how to cope with pregnancy after traumatic loss. A couple of months ago, the anxiety of what could go wrong with our little rainbow was becoming incredibly difficult for me to handle. On top of that, I was experiencing additional work stress. I wasn’t coping well; in fact, I was a mess. Getting through each day felt like a monumental task, and I could feel myself slipping into the familiar depression I’ve experienced so often since losing Lucy. I wasn’t snapping out of it. Chris noticed that I was returning to my “dark place”, as we call it. I couldn’t see how I was going to make it to the end of the school year, let alone to the end of this rainbow pregnancy without losing myself. My stress levels were through the roof, and I was battling with anxiety over the simplest of things, both at home and at work. So, I made the decision to speak with my doctors about anxiety medication.

From the beginning, my doctors have said that if I feel like I can’t handle the overwhelming anxiety that inevitably comes along with pregnancy after loss, I need to speak up. It isn’t something to be ashamed of, it simply goes with the territory. Something my doc told me at my first Maternal Fetal Medicine appointment stands out to me, and I think it’s worth sharing. He said that many women often feel that they need to just ‘suck it up’ and be tough through pregnancy. We want to be strong. I think this is even more true with PAL moms. We feel that the aches, pains, and difficulties of pregnancy are simply to be expected, and that we’ve no right to complain or ask for help for fear of coming across as ungrateful. I believe this is so true in my case. I’ve wished so much over the past year just to make it back to pregnancy and begin the journey again, and I’m fearful of seeming weak now that I have what I’ve wanted so desperately. But- I had to be honest with myself– in doing that, I was breaking myself down, and finding that the strength I’d wanted to embrace was dwindling because I was being so hard on myself. I wasn’t doing okay. I needed some help.

My doctors reassured me that the potential risks of letting stress and anxiety go unmanaged through a pregnancy could potentially have a negative impact on a developing baby, more so than what a low dose of anti-anxiety medication could possibly have. I was scared. I was afraid to take any unnecessary medications into my system, but I also knew that I was starting to spiral out of control emotionally. I was also reassured that the particular anti-anxiety med they were prescribing has been used for long enough to have many long-term studies done, all of which indicated what they’d already told me: that their potential for harm to a developing baby is less than what the unmanaged anxiety might do. With a lot of hesitation, fear, and apprehension, I agreed to get the script filled. I was an absolute wreck when I took the first dose. But gradually, over the course of a couple of weeks, I felt that overwhelming heaviness of the fear and anxiety slowly drop away. This isn’t to say that I don’t still feel paralyzed by fear and anxiety ever, because I still do, but I am much better at being able to rationalize and calm myself down. It has helped me manage the lows and keep myself going.

Pregnancy after loss is a difficult experience, and I don’t think most people can imagine what it’s like on any level unless they’ve lived through it themselves. While it is beautiful and filled with hope, it’s also terrifying and extremely hard at times. Irrational fears, legitimate worries, worst-case scenario imaginings… it’s all part of the daily game. Truthfully, it’s about survival. Surviving, and hoping against all odds that that our arms won’t be empty when we return home from the hospital this time. At any given moment, I truly am trying to do what’s best for this little rainbow baby, even if it’s hard to understand why I’m doing something the way I do. I’ve also been reminded by both my therapist and my doctors that doing what’s best for my baby also includes doing what’s best for me. That’s actually tough advice to take sometimes, but there’s no denying that self-care is so important, especially at a time like this.

And so, I’m okay with my decision to take anti-anxiety medication through this pregnancy. It was a tough one to make, but there is a positive difference. I’m not in a constant state of panic anymore and I’ve found more optimism to embrace along the way. I’m surviving.

To my fellow PAL moms: each of us must find our own ways to navigate pregnancy after loss. It’s an individual journey, filled with unknowns. There are countless ways to manage our anxieties, and we all need to make sure we’re choosing the best ways to do that for ourselves. There are so many options; anti-anxiety medication is just one of them. There’s no doubt that we’re all looking out for our babies’ best interests first and foremost. Don’t focus on how you may be judged for making the choices that are best for you and your baby, because this is your journey. Anyone who criticizes you or feels entitled to share their opinions about how you do this can’t possibly have a true understanding of what you’re going through. This journey is not for the weak, and it’s not all smiles and happiness either. You keep doing you, and give yourself some grace every now and then. Do what you need to do to survive and thrive through this difficult journey and make no apologies about it.

 

Twenty-one Months

My sweet Lucy,

You are in my thoughts today as you are every day. You’re three months shy of turning two today; how I wish we could see you grow. I need you to know that you are truly a part of me, part of my days, part of my heart. I get so scared sometimes because I don’t always feel I’m doing enough to honor you. I feel guilty when I don’t always get to our little rituals as often as  I’d like, or if I’m a little late in getting to them, but I just need you to know that you are so important to me and you always will be. I miss you terribly.

I had a flashback the other night of the very last time we were physically together. You in the little pink outfit and sweet bow on your head, heartbreakingly beautiful. My heart screams when I think about how I didn’t pick you up, why didn’t I pick you up? I was worried you were too fragile or that somehow I’d be disturbing you. You were so tiny, and… and you were gone. Sometimes I can’t stop thinking about moments like that because they’re etched into my memory so clearly. But so are the other precious moments we had together, and every other time I’ve felt your presence since then.

There’s no replacement for you, precious baby. You’re my firstborn, my daughter, my perfect little Lucy. I’ll always look for you, and I love you endlessly.

Forever and Always,

Mommy

I love you, sweet girl.

 

 

Missing The Innocence

A photo popped up today on my social media, taken two years ago on this day. In it, I’m fully immersed in the glory of first-time pregnancy, with an unmistakable glow lighting me up. I smiled as Chris took several photos, the sun shining in my eyes. I look at it now, longing for so many things. For the daughter we lost, for that same kind of peace of mind, for the innocence and naivety I felt during my pregnancy with Lucy. I long for the time captured in the photo when I was ignorant of what was to come less than four months after it was taken. I miss being innocent.

Losing Lucy has reshaped much of my life and who I see looking back at me in the mirror. I’ve aged, both outside and in. I’ve gained a kind of wisdom about life that I wish I could undo. I’ve become stronger, yet more vulnerable. More resilient, yet undeniably fractured. Braver, yet more fearful. I know what can be lost with no warning, no hesitation. Everything can shatter in the blink of an eye.

As I cautiously tiptoe through this pregnancy after loss, I am grateful, but I am also struggling each day to keep my terror at bay. It’s like swimming upstream against a powerful current, and sometimes, it’s tough to stay afloat in the waters of grief and fear. I’m scared that no matter how real my hope is that we’ll bring this rainbow baby home, the fear and devastation could win. The reality of our loss has changed the reality of this pregnancy. In the very same moments we held our daughter for the first time, we were simultaneously facing every parent’s worst nightmare. I’m so scared we’ll have to do it again.

When I’m not living in fear, I truly am enjoying pregnancy. I’m so thankful for another chance. I love this baby as much as I love his sister. I want so much what I cannot have: to have both of them, living and healthy, together. It’s hard to think about the idea that the four of us can never physically be together as a family; and, I don’t know if this little boy would be on the way if we’d gotten to keep our Lucy. Most of the time, I’d rather not consider that. I just know that I love both of my children immensely, and I simply wish I could have them both.

In spite of the brokenness, LOVE is the center of our little family… that love is what’s going to get us through.

April 2016, 23 weeks along with Lucy.

 

Twenty Months

My dear Lucy,

You’ve come up in many different interactions today, sweet girl. Several people have spoken your name aloud to me, not because it’s a milestone day, but just coincidentally. It’s made my heart feel warm just to hear your precious name, knowing that others think of you as I do. I’ve been thinking about you a lot today, not that you’re ever far from my thoughts, but I keep wondering about you. I wonder what you’d be like now, how long your hair might have grown, what your favorite foods would have been, how fast you’d be zooming all over the house, your favorite way to be tucked in for the night. I wonder about it all, just missing you with all I am. I wish you were here. I wish you could touch my belly as your brother grows, learning about what it is to be a big sister… I wonder if your little brother would even be here at all if you had stayed. It’s hard to think about.  Mostly, I just wish I could have both of you earth side. I wish I could really articulate all I need to say, but this will have to be enough for now.

There isn’t a day that passes that you’re not part of in some way. It’s hard to believe it’s been twenty months… nearly two years since you were last with us. Somehow the time has crawled, yet flown by swiftly.  I still can’t believe sometimes that you’re not here. I can’t believe you and your brother will never physically meet.  But, I CAN believe how much I miss and love you more each day. You’ll always be my precious girl. I love you so much, Lucy.

Always and Forever,

Mommy

 

 

Half Empty or Half Full?

Is my glass half empty or half full right now? Truth be told, I’m not sure.

I am guilt-ridden. I’m expecting a rainbow baby, yet here I am, in a foul, negative space in my head right now.

Logic tells me, ” Jess, you have pregnancy hormones to contend with. You’re overtired. You were just really sick a few days ago. You pulled a late night last night chaperoning a Saturday dance. You’re dealing with crazy anxiety. There are many reasons why it’s okay to feel this way right now.”

My emotional side is saying, ” Jess, you’re terrible. You should be happy every day, all the time, because you are pregnant, just like you’ve been wishing for. Your negativity and anxiety is bad for this baby. Stop failing this baby. Maybe you don’t deserve this opportunity. You’re proving you don’t deserve this by being ungrateful. You aren’t remembering Lucy actively enough. You’re not writing enough. You’re not celebrating your rainbow enough. You’re doing everything wrong.”

Hence the self-inflicted guilt trip.

The emotional side of things is winning out today. I’m exhausted, grumpy, irritable. There’s a lot on my mind, but I feel too tired to process it right now. I can’t think of anything that is going to make me feel better, and I know I’m doing this to myself. I’m not good at allowing myself grace on a regular day, but especially not during this pregnancy after loss. I realize this is a time when I should be kinder to myself, but I just can’t for some reason.

Conflicted is pretty much my constant state right now. I wish I could snap out of it, but there are a lot of factors at play right now that just aren’t allowing me to do so. Take my job for instance. I have to be careful what I write even here, because teachers, no matter what their other life circumstances, are judged differently than others. (So are loss parents, but that’s for another post sometime.) I’ll just leave it at this for now: It is impossible to feel like you’re anything other than some form of failure as a teacher in the current state of public education.  The building I work in is absolutely no exception to that statement right now. Unfortunately, that, coupled with my PAL anxiety, is chipping away at my self-esteem and confidence. I’m doubting my ability to handle all of this. I can’t snap out of this funk, and I’m worried it’s a testament to my inability to be a good PAL mom.

I worry a lot. In fact, I’m downright terrified most of the time. Don’t get me wrong, when I can just think about this precious rainbow baby and the possibility and hope he brings with him, I am calmer. When I think about Lucy, I feel the warmth in my heart that she’s always brought with her too. There’s still good mixed in with the negatives, but it’s hard to hang on to that through the whole day. I’m doing my best, but lately, I just feel like my best isn’t good enough.

Here’s to hoping the weather changes soon, that our upcoming Spring Break will refresh me, and that when we return, I can take teaching a little less seriously and focus on the good a bit more.

 

Half full or half empty?

Reflections

I’m ashamed to admit how little time I’ve been able to spend in reflection lately, at a time when I ought to be doing so with great frequency. Time has been a tough commodity to come by these days, and it seems that when I do have a moment or two to sit down and share what’s on my mind, I’m either interrupted, my computer decides to malfunction or update, or I’m simply too tired to record the whirlwind of thoughts swirling through my brain.

As I revealed in Lucy’s 19 month letter, Chris and I have the honor of saying we’re expecting our rainbow at last. There simply aren’t words to express the happiness and hopefulness that this little one has already brought to us.  There have been many moments in which I stop and have to remind myself that it’s real– we’re really pregnant. Though I work through fear and anxiety each day, I’m doing all I can to celebrate this precious little boy growing within me. I truly believe that Lucy had something to do with choosing her baby brother, and I feel her presence with me more vividly. In December, I officially asked Lucy if she wanted to be a big sister (here), and suddenly, what would have just been days later, our little rainbow appeared in our lives. Maybe a coincidence, but I think not.  Some people have already said the phrase, “Looks like God decided it was time.”  Whatever… I think it was a matter of our precious Lucy deciding it was time.

I’m going to do my best to try writing and documenting this special time, because it matters so much to me. It’s been difficult to do that as of late, because my job is truly taking all of my extra energy from me. I worry constantly now about how the stress of teaching is impacting this pregnancy; it’s a legitimate concern. I keep trying to remind myself that it’s only a job, that I can only do what I can while I’m there, but it’s much more complicated than that. I often leave work feeling the heaviness of the day as if someone is standing upon my shoulders. When I arrive home, I’m emotionally and physically spent.  I’m bothered by the realization that it’s robbing me of some of the hope and joy of our situation. I’m working on strategies to manage these feelings, but it’s hard. While I am so incredibly thankful for this opportunity to potentially experience parenting in a different way, it’s true that pregnancy after loss is hard. I worry, and then I worry some more that the resulting anxiety from that worry is having a negative impact on this baby boy. I’m just trying to do be the best mom I can be to this baby, but sometimes, it feels like I’m just not living up to those expectations.

There’s so much more to say, but it’ll have to come out in small segments. We’re 15 weeks in to this rainbow pregnancy, and already I have learned many things. Joy can exist alongside grief. Hope can be stronger than fear. My Lucy is always with me, and she’ll be with me every step of the way through this PAL (pregnancy after loss) journey.