Every opportunity

Life is messy.  And it isn't always puppies and rainbows and unicorn dust.  My kiddos will learn that soon enough, if they haven't already.

I believe in tough love.  I think there is a time and place for it.  I strive to always be honest with my kids, and not sugarcoat things, even while I work to protect their innocence.

That said....

I want to take every opportunity, now when they are 4 and in years to come when they are 44, to tell them:

I'm proud of you.

You'll figure this out.

You are stronger/smarter/steadier than you think/feel.

I support you.

I will help you figure it out.

I noticed.

I'm not judging, I'm listening.

You can do this.  You CAN.

I'm here for whatever you need.

I love you.  NO MATTER WHAT.

I NEVER want my littles to doubt how much joy I receive from being their momma.  When it's perfect.  When it's not.  And every moment in between.

If being their mother is the only job I ever have, I want to do this one thing well.  My love language is words of affirmation, and while I know that theirs may not be, I know my words will burrow deep into the fiber of their hearts.

So, I strive.  Each day.  To use my words for good. To speak love to and over them.  I want to seize every opportunity I have to let them know I believe in them, and that I'm their biggest fan.  Now.  Always.

Walking with You - First Steps Back

This week's Walking With You topic is about those first moments/days/experiences back into the "everyday."  Kelly says, "Share about your first steps back into life. What helped you survive in the world outside as you took those first tender steps? Are there still tender areas for you today, living in a world that doesn’t embrace or understand the loss of a baby/child? How do you cope with those struggles? What advice would you offer those new to this walk to encourage and bring hope? How has this changed for you from the beginning? If you are in early grief, what do you fear/struggle with as you try to navigate a new normal….life without your baby?"

Well, if you head over to my archives, it won't take you long to find out what returning to every day life was like after losing Duncan....

And can I just insert something here?  I have been pregnant 7 times.  I've lost more babies than I've had the joy of bringing home.  My miscarriages are as much a part of my story as Duncan's life.  Well.....if I'm being totally honest, that isn't true.  They are a part of my story, but the impact of my pregnancy with and delivery of Duncan is profound.  Therefore, for the most part, my Walking With You entries will be reflective of my loss of him, not my other lost pregnancies.  That said, for those of you reading whose grief and heartache comes from earlier losses, please know that the pain is as real.  As huge.  The loss is as great.  S/he was your BABY.  I get that.  I hope I NEVER come across as insensitive to that, just because I speak of Duncan more often and more intensely than my other losses.  (I hope that all made sense...)

But back to the topic at hand...

My writing during the summer of 2009 is as raw as the experiences themselves.  Some I shared, and for those of you reading whose grief is more recent, I would encourage you to click back over to some of my posts from then.

Some of the first "tender steps back" were merely items to check off a cruel to-do list, like ordering an urn.   Or having to line up childcare for Seth because I remained on bedrest even after delivery, thanks to post-partum pre-eclampsia.  Or having to return a maternity swimsuit I never got to wear.  Or scheduling the MFM appointment to start the barrage of testing that would, hopefully, hold some answers.  They were things that irritated me, angered me.  Because I shouldn't have to be doing them at all.  On the flip side, though, those were the "easy" things.  The things that just had to get done.  Put the emotion aside (for the moment) and just place the order, climb in bed, hand over the receipt, make the appointment, etc.  Just get it done.  And there was comfort -- albeit minor -- in that.  At least, in those moments, I could execute, versus flounder, which is what I did the rest of the time....

There were so many sleepless nights.  SO. MANY.  I couldn't sleep, for various reasons, whether it was discomfort from my milk-heavy breast or a racing pulse from too many blood pressure medications.  Or, in many cases, I didn't want to sleep, because sleep meant dreams, and dreams were so rarely sweet in those first days and weeks.

 I remember reaching out to my blog readers when I felt lost, unsure of how to be present for Seth (who, remember, was only 17 months at the time) while navigating through grief.

I was super-sensitive, to even the most trivial of details, if it had ANYTHING to do with Duncan.  It was as if each encounter that touched upon his life was SO precious and SO fragile -- since there would be so few of them -- that I guarded them so fiercly.  Hence, why I was offended by the Homer Simpson stamp on his cremation certificate.

But probably the most notable "event" during the first days, etc., was the church trifecta....I touched on it in last week's post, but it is even more significant for this week's topic.  I was so hesitant to make that first trip back to church, and after what happened when I got there, my hesitation was justified.  But, in the way that so many moments of this journey became redeemed, so did the church experience.  That said, the ignorance and insensitivity of one woman scarred me.  Truly.  To this day, I struggle with feelings of insecurity when it comes to "how I'm doing this."  As I said then, 

"She had managed to underscore ALL my insecurities that have formed in the last 22 days, primarily that there is a "how to" book out there that is being withheld from me. I'm so fearful that I'm doing "this" wrong -- that I'm grieving wrong, that I'm responding to Jim wrong, that I'm not moving on fast enough, that I'm moving on too fast, that we should have had a funeral, that we should have had maternity pictures taken, that we should have done something we didn't or that we shouldn't have done something we did....."

There are areas that are still to this day so very tender.  Some triggers are obvious.  Others are much more subtle.  Like the first time you have to buy tampons instead of nursing pads.  (Okay, maybe that one isn't so subtle.)  The sneak-up-on-you moments have been happening from the very beginning, and I would imagine will continue to do so.  And while I'm in the vicinity to that link there, in the last sentence, let me touch on one of the questions that Kelly posed in her intro to this week's topic: "What advice would you offer those new to this walk to encourage and bring hope?"

PLEASE, please don't be afraid to speak up if you are hurting and need an ear.  A shoulder.  A safe place to vent/cry/rail against the unfairness of it all.  I did that -- the "speaking up" part in that post, and while it didn't garner a sudden outpouring of phone calls and offers to bring dinner, it was validating in the sense that I said, out loud, so to speak, "HEY!  This happened.  I'm still hurting.  It was a BIG DEAL.  I get that life needs to continue on, but I still can't hardly breathe.  I STILL NEED YOU."

I lamented in past posts that the things I would get to do for Duncan would be so few.  And that is still true, I guess.  But, three and a half years out, I'm been pleasantly surprised to learn that he still has a very real and obvious place in my "quiver" and in my day to day.  Just a few nights ago, I got to tell his story.  What started as a reference to why our first six months living in Nashville likened us to poor ol' Job turned into a wonderful testimony of God's grace and omnipresence in our lives and home in the wake of Duncan's death.  I'd known the lady I was talking to for all of 20 minutes before I was talking about VBACs and D&Cs and urns and 1-pound-1-ounce babies, but I shared my son's story unashamedly....and I'm having a playdate with this new mommy friend on Tuesday.

So, I'll close with that.  Maybe it's a stretch to link dead babies to playdates, but for me....it was a monument of sorts, to how far I've come, from those first days when you feel like the whole world is staring at you because you look fat and frumpy and probably haven't showered and have tear-streaks down your face.....to the next stage when you are more "aware" and stumble over your words when someone asks you how many children you have.....to the anniversary dates....to the days like I had Thursday, when you tell a stranger, "I have 3 boys and a girl, but our second son passed away."  And while it may sound insensitive to say that I don't care if that makes her uncomfortable or if it's something she'd rather not know, it's a victory for me.  To get to that place where the "tender" turns into "triumphant" and you realize that you are that much closer to the place where, yes, the missing is still there, but you're so much more aware that they aren't really gone -- not in the way that matters.  They are as close as our next breath....

If you're not there yet in your walk, be patient and gentle with yourself.  You will get there.  There will be bumps and bruises -- tripping over idiots (and they are legion!) will do that to you -- along the way.  But you will get there.  I promise.

Walking with You – Clinging in the Pit

This week’s topic of Walking with You is about the early stages of grief.  Kelly asks, “What was it like, clinging for hope in the pits of despair? What did you cling to for hope? How did you survive the early days? What helped? What do you wish you could share with someone new to this walk, clinging in the pit?”

It’s been a very long time since I’ve written about Duncan, and the impact he had, and continues to have on my life.  I suppose the most recent posts would have been in the days leading up to his third birthday, and the birth of our James.  And I suppose, that is because the place I’m in now – the place I didn’t have time to touch on when I was getting kicked out of the coffeehouse last week – has become unnoticeable, in the way that familiar things do.  You don’t notice the way your favorite shoes fit, you don’t notice the angle you turn the shower knob to bring forth the right temperature water…it just is – every day, the same.  And that is where I’m at, today, when it comes to my loving and missing my sweet Second.  He is present, in a hundred ways, all day, every day.  The “pit” of grief is still existent.  But not gaping.  Yawning.  Bottomless.

Not like it was in the beginning…

In the beginning – the REAL beginning – the pit was just a bad dream, in the sense that it wasn’t real.  Not yet.  It was just a horrible “what if,” a scary worst-case-scenario that wasn’t really reality.  Yet.  Lesson learned from that first encounter with the initial pit?  Denying it doesn’t mean you’re not standing on the edge of it.

Tripping over the edge wasn’t as painful as I’d have expected, looking back.  I think that is because my mother’s heart already knew.  But having my suspicions verified – if not yet verbalized, at least acknowledged by a doctor – was how I actually stumbled from the safety of one reality into the darkness of another.  Lesson learned, part two. Thinking “it’s not so bad,” is a coping mechanism.  It IS bad.  And chances are, it is going to get worse.

The darkest part of the pit of grief, for me, was actually hearing the words.  Because there was hope.  Always, the tiniest sliver of hope.  Until there wasn’t.  Until the doctor confirmed what my heart knew, and my eyes saw what the doctor said, and I had to accept that nothing would ever, ever be the same again.  And as I sat on an ER gurney and wailed an unrecognizable wail, cradled in my husband’s arms…I fell.  Lesson learned, number three.  When you’re falling off a cliff, you think, surely, the scary part ends when you finally hit the bottom….  It doesn’t.  The freefall is terrifying.  But the hurt starts when you stop falling.

I’ll try to pick up the pace here….

The days in between learning that Duncan had passed away and delivering him into this world were dark.  I’d stopped falling, but only to begin wandering aimlessly, though a million details needed to be addressed.  Everything was so unclear and foggy and foreign in those days.

But… (and I know Kelly is reading this going, “Girl!  Get to the HOPE part!!!”)

The morning after Duncan was born, a marvelous thing occurred.

The sun rose.  (I know, I know.  The sun always rises.  Technically.)  But the sun rose, and I watched it.  With my sweet, absent, boy cradled in my arms.  And as I stood there, on the third floor, room D, I realized that I was still in the pit.  BUT.  I hadn’t fallen so far that the sun still couldn’t warm my face.  I hadn’t fallen so far that I couldn’t still feel His loving arms wrap around me, even as I struggled to let go.  I hadn’t fallen past the point of no return; I was actually close enough to the edge to stand on my tip-toes, and stretch my fingertips, and reach over to find….

New life.

New appreciation.  New joy.  New purpose.

Not that there weren’t bad days.  Not that there weren’t constant reminders of what was missing.  Not that there weren’t things that made me madhurtconfusedsadangry all at once.  Not that there weren’t instances where I questioned the sanity of some of those around me as I navigated my way out of the pit.

But….

I chose to walk away from the hospital that day I said goodbye to my son, believing that I would be okay.  That Jim and I would be okay.  That our family would be okay – and wonderful – no matter how many chairs stood empty at our table.  I chose to believe my God loved me more than I could comprehend.  I chose to believe that there would be a time when it didn’t hurt to breathe.  I chose to trust that my heart would mend.  And I chose to be patient.  I chose to accept that my journey would be my own – and that no one could dictate my climb out.  Not when I emerged.  How messy and torn and bloody I was when I climbed over the edge.  Not how close I remained to the mouth of the pit, and for how long.

I know there are some that think I’m still too close to the edge.  That 3 years would be enough time to be miles away from such a scary, dark, sad place.  But I like my spot here, on the edge.

I’m out.  I’m in the sun.  But I’m close enough to reach down a hand, and help pull up those behind me who are on their own journey out….

Walk with me, won’t you?

I vowed several weeks ago to take more time for me – to read, to write, to get out of mommy mode and find a piece of me.

Well, I did it.  It’s 9:06 PM, Tuesday night, and I made it to the corner Biggby’s with a list of topics and themes and posts to draft.  And just minutes after taking the first sip of my decaf mocha, I thought, “Who am I kidding?  I’m not gonna write. I am SO TIRED.”

James has a horrific cold, and I did the momma bock-and-rounce, ahem,rock-and-bounce (see, I told you I’m tired) for hours last night, and hours today.  The thought of getting any coherent words from brain to fingers to Writer was a wee bit daunting.

But then I started reading some of the linked posts to Kelly’s Walking With You re-debut, and I found myself commenting, and realized that some of these mommy’s would more than likely pop over to see who this Writer Chic gal was, and, well, why not give them something of a relevant post when they get here?  (Hi, by the way.)

(For those of you who are wondering where in the world this is going, here is a brief explanation: My friend Kelly, who runs Sufficient Grace Ministries, is hosting a post series for the next 6 weeks for mothers who have lost a child/children. Kelly says, “Whether you are a seasoned mom who has walked this path of grief for years, or a mother newly thrust into this unknown valley, I hope you will join in and add your thoughts. One of the goals for WWY is for women to find hope in the knowledge that they are not walking this path alone. It helps to read about the experiences of others. We hope many of you will post on these subjects on your blogs each week with us…and come back to add your post to the linky on the weekly posts here. You can also share your thoughts in the comments of the weekly posts. And, hopefully, many of you will take time to leave an encouraging comment to the blogs linked each week.”)

Okay, here goes topic #1: Intro, and Where I am Now.

I’m Monica.  32. Married to Jim for 7+ years.  SAHM to Seth (5), Erin (2), and James (7 months).

Perfect little family, right?

Some days, yes.

But my family isn’t without its empty chairs…..

Our first pregnancy was over before it started.  Or almost that quickly.  Literally, the miscarriage started before the nurse could call back with my (pathetic) beta count.

Our second pregnancy was complicated from the get-go, but gave us our incredible Seth James.

Our third pregnancy ended with a traumatic one-two punch behind the billowy curtains of an ER and the sterile confines of an ultrasound room.  From hemorrhaging in my bathroom, to delivering one baby in the ER, to being shocked with the news of a second baby during an ultrasound, to the subsequent D&C…. October 19, 2008 was not the best day, to say the least.

Our fourth pregnancy…oh, our sweet, unexpected, and yes, I’ll admit, unwanted, surprise.  Duncan Thomas…Your story is by far, my favorite chapter of this blog.  You’ve been gone three years now.  How is that possible?

Our fifth pregnancy gave us our rainbow, and our daughter.  Erin Elizabeth.  The piece of the puzzle that started the healing.

Our sixth pregnancy was another “blip.”  And I don’t mean that to be insensitive.  But like our first, it was over before it began.  A positive hpt, but goodbyes before I could even call my ob.

And seventh.  Perfect seven.  Final.  And also a surprise.  Born on the scared anniversary of his big brother’s birth, James Ethan redeemed May 19, and became my beloved third son.

So, there is the intro.  My back story.

As for where I am now?  Well, specifically NOW, I’m getting kicked out of the coffee shop.  So….where I am today….that will have to wait.

But thank you for stopping by (if you’re new), or for hanging around (if you’re not)…..

Off and running…

2013 has kind of been a bully so far.  I hope she straightens up.

We ushered in the new year with vomit.  Lots and lots and lots of vomit.  From every member of my sweet little family (except me, thank you, Jesus).  I have become a master carpet cleaner this week.  That is not a title I ever aspired to, by the way.

Amid the puking episodes, we have also been dealing with some issues with our littlest guy.  A week or so ago, I noticed that he had a cyst-like boil thing-y pop up out of nowhere.  It seemed to be causing him some discomfort, so back to the ped we went.  Long story short, the doctor was concerned, so they did a biopsy (on what was determined to be a perianal fissure), and we started daily visits to monitor what they thought was going to turn out to be MRSA.  In ended up not being MRSA, just another strange infection, but they also gave us some concerning news about what may have caused the fissure in the first place….  And let me tell you, you do not want to be talking to a pediatrician about Crohn’s disease when it is your baby who is the subject.  But…. we will deal with things as it unfolds and just take it a step at a time.

 

What else?  Erin’s T&A recovery continues to move forward.  We are also working diligently with potty training, and she has recently moved up into the next toddler level class at her preschool.

 

Seth is Seth.  Perfection personified one minute, and a holy terror the next.  Most days right now, I miss my sweet 4-year-old; this dramatic, often belligerent handful that has shown up in his stead is like a little foreigner under my roof.  But, I’m sure it’s just a phase, and we are doing our best to meet his individual needs and to love him through these rough days.  Also, an unexpected text from our friend and neighbor Melissa just last night brought me up short: kindergarten registration is in 3 weeks.  Eek.  I mean, school is on my radar and all, but man, there is something about registration that just makes it SO MUCH MORE REAL.

I’m…eh.  I’m okay.  I got SO spoiled with having Jim home for 11 days, and I miss him.  The main tree is down in the great room, making the house feel even more empty.  I have 100 things bouncing around in my head – recipes, projects, blog posts, chores – and I’m feeling more and more that there just isn’t enough of me to go around.

I know so many people use the turning of the calendar year to mark a fresh start and all that…and I normally do the same.  But I just feel behind the curve this year.  I’m not yet to the “fresh” part; I’m still in the “letdown” phase of January.

So, I hope you’ll stick around til I get my groove back.  I’m hoping that tomorrow will be the first of many of my Tuesday night writing getaways.  We will see….

2012

If I really wanted to do a year-end recap justice, I’d be rambling on from now until the ball drops, so….I’m going to try to follow in my dear Mandie’s footsteps, and just do a photo-a-month summary.  Here’s to my best effort!

January…. Home again, home again, jiggety jig.  Moving back to Ohio from Tennessee in the middle of winter with two toddlers while 5 months pregnant meant we lived amid half-unpacked boxes for weeks on end, and avoided unpacking with multiple readings of Otis.  Seth started karate, Tiffany surprised us with a whirlwind visit, and we adjusted to life without our White House besties.

February… Winter in Ohio isn’t super fun.  I’d forgotten.  But we learned our way around our new town, visiting the uptown library for storytime, and practiced the layout of the neighborhood Kroger.  Seth got his first buzzed haircut, thanks to Uncle Josh.  Erin got her long-awaited rainboots.  We spent a lot of time in our jammies, and, to be honest, I spent a lot of time reminding myself that moving “home” was the right thing to do.

 
March….  We logged SO MANY MILES in the Flex in March, and it was worth every one.  We started out the month with a visit to Chicago to visit Daina and her boys, and then worked our way further north to spend a few days in the Wisconsin Dells, where we purchased our timeshare property (which we have already enjoyed so much).  After going north, we headed south for a much-needed visit with our WH peeps.  The weather was ideal and we got to see so many of our friends and just enjoy each other’s company again.  I was able to be the one to send Tiffany off on her National Guard adventure while we were there, which, of course, was bittersweet.  We hosted some more Internet-turned-real friends in our home (before they trekked from their North Dakota home to sunny California), and I retook my drivers’ test in order to get my Ohio license back.

April…  April was emotional.  The month started out with me getting a stomach thing that was ROUGH. Easter was sweet, and we took the time to travel to Bellevue to visit my grandparents (which is always a great time), and I even took the kiddos to the Cleveland zoo to meet up with friends, but the month was overshadowed by the sudden death of my aunt Kim, my dad’s only sister, and the last living member of his immediate family.  While it was wonderful to see so many members of my family (that is my cousin Ali [Kim’s oldest daughter], newly pregnant herself!) at the funeral, traveling back and forth to Cleveland several days in a row resulted in some health issues that led to some blood pressure issues that landed me in the hospital for a few days.  That experience ended up being so much more traumatic than I could have prepared for (I have yet to blog about it), and the month kind of ended on a sour note.

May…  In May, everything changed.  Little Miss became a toddler with turning TWO, we said goodbye to being a family of four, and we welcomed the final, perfect, member of our family with James Ethan’s birth.  Some changing family dynamics stretched my heart, and the outpouring of love from some unexpected sources (also not blogged about or properly thanked – shame on me! Katie, Rachel, Jess…I love you gals!) took my breath away.  Maternity and newborn photo shoots gave us memories to treasure forever, and sweet friends in Tennessee made sure even sweet Duncan had his third birthday commemorated.

June… June was SO HOT, and found us, newborn and all, at the pool a lot.   Karate in the park, trips to Sonic, backyard pool time at Gramma’s, and lots and lots and lots of snuggling baby James was how we ushered out the first half of the year.  Seth got bunk beds, and we partied hard at cookouts, and it was summer fun at its best.

July…  Erin moved into her big girl bed, our master bedroom got painted, and we celebrated Independence Day with a cookout at Auntie Heidi’s and then fireworks in Gramp-e’s backyard.  We had breakfast at the zoo, and Seth made his first solo trip to Tennessee to visit Gage, but most importantly, our wonderful Miss Tiffany came home from Army training and spent a week of vacation with us, and it was WONDERFUL.

August…  August was good to us.  Visits to Bellevue to see the great grandparents were sweet (and Erin got asked to be a flower girl in Amy and Ben’s wedding next fall!); a trip to Tennessee early in the month was awesome (and not just because AP finally got to meet James!); we spent lots of time at the park; Erin’s hair grew a million inches; the upstairs bedrooms got painted; Daddy got a great deal on a bike trailer; and the big littles started preschool for the year.  While we did say goodbye to Jim’s grandfather, and though I did battle the worst case of thrush EVER KNOWN TO MAN, I’d have to say August was probably my favorite month of 2012.

 
September… September was also none-too-shabby.  (I mean, c’mon, they made fudge covered coconut creme Oreos!)  But the leaves turned, the temps fell, and I got an awesome new knife for my 32nd birthday.  Nonna and Grandma came to visit Over the Rainbow for grandparents’ day, and my sweet friend “kekis” welcomed her so-long-awaited daughter Kate. We geared up for the new Mom Journey at church, and I finally started to really feather my nest with the arrival of my most favorite season.

 
October… Full of more stuff I have yet to blog about.  Doh!  A WONDEFUL 7th anniversary trip to Gatlinburg, complete with four-wheeling and wonderful meals and moonshine from Ron and Brenda, bookended with the Steelers vs. Titans game with the Hatches and buying Jim’s new work car, was a fabulous way to start the month.  Wonderful fall festivities like pumpkin picking with friends and, of course, trick or treating (even in sleet) rounded out the month.

 
November…. The month of Thankswinning and the return of our Miss Tiffany for 10 whole days!  I mean, yes, I had hernia surgery and the boys got ear infections and James cut his first tooth, but really, it was all about the fun we had and how complete our family felt when Tiff was here with us.  We decked our halls and made a killer Thanksgiving dinner and saw Lincoln and  shopped and ate and ate and ate and it even snowed and we went to the Lights Before Christmas at the zoo and took our Christmas card photo and celebrated Seth’s 5th birthday (early) and took the kids Christmas shopping and made popcorn balls and mourned the death of Hostess with Tiff’s first fruit pie…. it was, simply, the best week-plus, like, ever.

 
and December… And the year o’ transition went out with a bang.  Seth returned to Tennessee with Tiffany after Thanksgiving, so we trekked down there to pick him up the first weekend of the month.  We were able to go out to dinner with our (old? former?) small group-slash-best friends at the Cheesecake Factory and I have not laughed that hard in a sweet forever (even if Andy has forever ruined the song Sleigh Ride for me).  We ventured to Opry Mills and the Gaylord to see the lights and “That Elusive Tree” and I was also able to attend the baby shower for our former pastor’s wife (which was SO special, as they have waited a sweet forever for this precious gift!).  The rest of the month was mostly a blur due to Erin’s surgery to remove her tonsils and adenoids, and what was supposed to be routine turned into 8 days in the hospital.  Thankfully we were home in time for Christmas – which was also so special, since it is our first Christmas at home since 2007 (which was sort of a no brainer that year, since Seth was just days old!).  Speaking of, Big Mister turned 5, was a rockstar at his school program, and enjoyed Christmas like never before!  James’ first Christmas, Erin’s PINK!!! BIKE!!!, the girl-less photo with Santa… It was a month of wonderful memory making…

And even as I sit here drafting this post, interrupted numerous times, because my big little is puking his guts out, I have to say, 2012 was nothing like I thought it would be.  But what ever is?  So…..bring it on, 2013.  I don’t know what you’ll have in store for me and those I love most, but…..I’m ready.

Linus

     

Merry Christmas 2012

From our growing family to yours…..

From our home, for the first time since 2007….

From hearts overflowing with love and gratitude for a year beyond our wildest imaginations…

*************************

Merry Christmas

Score one for SantaMommy

When we took the kids to see Santa, Erin was PETRIFIED.  Like, we have a framed picture of the boys with Santa.  No Erin.

Nope, she stood behind the photographer having a complete meltdown, and when asked if she didn't want to tell Santa what she was wishing for for Christmas, she just screamed "PINK!!! BIKE!!!" through her tears.

Well, Erin got a big wheel trike for her birthday in May, so it didn't really seem plausible that she'd be getting another bike for Christmas, but.....

On a whim, I scanned Craig's List, and found this:



For only $5!!!

So, needless to say, Elf Daddy and Elf Big Brother are picking this up while they are out and about running errands this weekend.

It may be too big, and it may be used, and it may not even work, for all I know, but for the smile I'm sure to get from Erin on Christmas morning when she sees this under the tree, I'd have paid way more than must $5.

10 Things I Learned from Erin’s Surgery: Part I

You would think what with all the time I had to prepare for Erin’s tonsillectomy and adenoidectomy (T&A), I would have waltzed into the experience with nary a care.  After all, I’d been sure we were headed to this point for almost 10 months.  But, alas, when it was all said and done, I realized I knew NOTHING about what this “rite of passage,” if you will, would teach me.

I know several friends who have faced, or are facing a similar procedure, so I made a (not0even close to comprehensive) list of some of the things I learned during our T&A journey.

10. When your little one is scared, it seems to help if you, as the momma, fake bravery.  Even when you aren’t brave; only anxious.  And tired.  Because, man, you have to get to the hospital early for these things!

9.  A good nurse is worth her weight, and then some, in gold.  Or other precious commodity of choice.  The longer we were in triage, the more antsy Erin and I both got.  Our nurse recognized this, and brought over stickers, and a strawberry-scented mask to get Erin used to it.  She was so wonderful, and one of several nurses we would have during our stay that made me, as a momma, feel so much better about this whole thing.

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 8.  No matter how much faith you have, or how reassuring the doctor tries to be, seeing your little one being wheeled away on a gurney will pretty much shatter your heart.  I probably don’t have to elaborate on that point, do I?  Thank goodness that the separation, from this point, until she was back in my arms, was only about an hour.

 
7. You’re going to experience a lot of physical discomfort during recovery.  Erin wanted to be held, or slept with, pretty much ‘round the clock after surgery, and no matter how willing my heart was to accommodate her, man, my body was not up to the task.  I came away with bruises and stiff muscles, and limbs that feel asleep to excruciating degrees.  Oh!  And did I mention being only inches away from her mouth was torture.  Seriously.  No one warns you that post-T&A breath is about the foulest thing you’ll ever smell.  Seriously.  It is SO BAD.  SO BAD.

 
6.  They’re not gonna be themselves. =(  Erin vacillated between being loopy and drugged up from pain meds, to being still and listless due to pain.  She was quiet (because it hurt to talk) and she looked so sad and pathetic, I was often asking the nurse, “is this normal, is she okay?”  And of course I was reassured that it was just the anesthesia wearing off and that she’d be back to normal in no time.  But still, I wasn’t prepared for it.

 
5.  A person can indeed watch entirely too much Nick Jr. in one setting.  OMG, seriously, I watched Team Umizoomi for 8 days straight.  EIGHT.  DAYS.  STRAIGHT.  With only limited breaks….and that was only to switch to the random Bubble Guppies episode.

 
4.  Visiting siblings will have more fun with the hospital toys than the patient.  I shouldn’t have even bothered packing busy items (crayons, puzzles, etc.), or having the candy-stripers bring down rec room toys.  Erin was so miserable that first day, she couldn’t have cared less about playing with anything.

3.  On the chance that your child perks up, and, oh, requests a cheeseburger for dinner, don’t hold your breath…..  Our nurses were SO thrilled with Erin’s desire to drink and eat about 8 hours after surgery.  She was mowing down popsicles and juice cups like nobody’s business, and even asked to have a cheeseburger for dinner.  Yea, Erin!  You’re a rockstar!!!!  Several nurses commented that they NEVER get toddlers to respond this well, since they are usually so overwhelmed by the pain.  I was proud of her, and so thankful that we were on track to be headed home the next day!

 
2. …..because she can go from being the Cheeseburglar Reincarnate, to looking like death warmed over.   This photo pretty much sums up what this experience was really like.  Pale skin.  Sunken eyes.  Matted hair.  And popsicles melting, untouched, into a cup.  In hindsight, I can’t believe they actually let us leave the hospital, because it seems apparent (now) that she was headed for trouble once she was off the good pain meds.

 
1. There may be a point after you’re released that the you-know-what hits the fan.  Or, as the case may be, doesn’t.  Let me explain.  The pain meds that were prescribed for us AT HOME were unacceptable to Erin’s palate, and she WOULD NOT take it.  Ergo, she would/could not swallow.  Ergo, she got dehydrated.  And constipated.  REALLY constipated.  Like, finally passed out on my bathroom floor from the pain and effort of trying to poop.  Oh, it was heartbreaking, and it was at this point, I pretty much knew we were headed back to the hospital.

To be continued….

December 13

Am I the only one that has a bizarre ability to remember and assign significance to dates?

It occurred to me earlier this week that I was pregnant with all four of my children on December 13.  Now, I realize, given the span of dates that an individual pregnancy can cover, this isn't really an impressive feat.  But, to me, it is special.

December 13, 2007, was the last full day I was pregnant with Seth.  I was induced that night.

December 13, 2008.  Duncan was just starting his life, having been conceived, ahem, a little unexpectedly, early that week.

December 13, 2009, I was eagerly making preparations to announce Erin's presence to the world at large, having kept her pregnancy a secret from most people for almost 5 months.

And, since I'm nice like that, I gave 2010 the day off. ;)

December 13, 2011, James was taking a backseat not to the festivities of the season, but to the hustle and bustle of our cross country move.  But, still, he was there, an ever-presence.

And today..... 2102.  It's "just" a Thursday.  Preschool for Seth, albeit accompanied with birthday treats to celebrate the milestone of 5.  Snuggles and never-ending Team Umizoomi for the still-recovering Erin.  James has cut his second tooth and is determined to master real (as opposed to army-) crawling any moment.  Jim is foregoing hockey so that I can join my Mom Journey girls for a kid-free dinner.

I'm not pregnant.  Can't possible be pregnant.  And 99 time out of 100, I'm okay with that fact.

Tomorrow, I will wake up and have a 5 year old.  Hardly seems possible.  The holidays, of course, ramp up the sentiment and nostalgia, so I'm missing Duncan a bit more than usual.  My hands are full to overflowing with the care of James and Erin.

My normal-not-pregnant December 13 is pretty amazing, actually.  Chapter closed.