Tummymuffin

secret mothers, invisible children

noreply@blogger.com (hadashi) — Sun, 13 May 2012 06:06:00 +0000

tomorrow is Mother's Day.
for some women, it's a day of rejoicing and making memories, especially if you do the whole breakfast-in-bed thing. if you attend church, most likely you'll be asked to stand up and people will clap for you and you might also get a flower. if you go out to lunch with your kids, you'll be wished a Happy Mother's Day by total strangers. and although they may tell you throughout the year, you will especially, on this day, treasure hearing those tiny voices yell I LOVE YOU MOMMY!
but for other women, it's a day of emotional dread and deep sorrow. no small feet will patter to your door to bring you toast and tea in bed. you may skip church because it's just too painful for you to stay seated when the moms are asked to stand up. if you go to lunch, strangers will not even look at you. and you can only wonder what the tiny voice that would have told you "i love you mommy" would have sounded like.
for women struggling with infertility and pregnancy loss, to say Mother's Day is difficult is an understatement indeed. no one can see the children you never bore, and your motherhood is a bittersweet secret that you hold in your scarred heart.
someone asked me a few days ago if i was excited to celebrate "my first Mother's Day." honestly? i have mixed feelings. you see, this is actually my fourth Mother's Day, and it is only by some undeserved miracle that i am able to celebrate this one with a living child. and rather than forgetting the three Tummymuffins that preceded him, the sheer vitality and exuberant life of my baby makes his siblings climb out of the shadow realms of concept and into the reminders of their former reality. i stroke his silky small head and wonder about the color of their hair. i hear his little coos and i think about what their voices would have sounded like. and when Lukas looks into my eyes and wraps his adorable smile around my heart, i imagine what the shape of their mouths would have been had they ever smiled up at me. the joy coexists with the sorrow; one does not take from the other.
this Mother's Day i would ask: please be sensitive and compassionate to the secret mothers. if you know a woman who is dealing with infertility or pregnancy loss, acknowledge the children you don't see. she won't have forgetten them; showing that you haven't either is truly a great gift of love.
and to those of you who called me a mother over these last few years even as i was struggling with the immense promise and despair in that title, i am immensely grateful. thank you.

wisdom of investment

noreply@blogger.com (hadashi) — Mon, 23 Apr 2012 17:09:00 +0000

i've thought long and hard these last few weeks about what to do here at tummymuffin.net. i know some of you who come here do so because you have been following this journey for a long time. i know some of you who come here do so because you were sent to hear an honest voice talking about the thorny, twisting road of infertility and pregnancy loss. and i think that even though i'm now experiencing the fulfilled hope of a longtime dream, the story is far from over. i'm realizing that just as pregnancy after loss is very different, so is motherhood after loss: truly, i have paid for it in the "coin of pain." i would not have chosen this way, yet i am grateful for the multilayered depths of patient love the waiting has given to me i would not otherwise have.
as i write this, i'm looking at my new son's tiny napping face as he decides whether to keep dreaming his baby dreams or to open his clear blue eyes and experience more of this brand-new world. i know i cannot keep dreaming my old dreams; i need to trust that my experience of this terrifying and exhilarating new world can still be honest and hope-giving for you, wherever you are on your journey.

INVESTMENT
by Carol Lynn Pearson

How enviously
I watched
The rose bush
Bear her bud --
Such an easy,
Lovely birth.
And
At that moment
I wished
The sweet myth were true --
That I could
Pluck you,
My child
From some
green vine.

But now
As you breathe,
Through flesh
That was mine
(Gently in the
Small circle
Of my arms),
I see
The wisdom
Of investment.

The easy gift
Is easy to forget.
But what is bought
With coin of pain
Is dearly kept.

thanks to my beloved sister for sharing this poem with me.

Tummymuffin IV has arrived!

noreply@blogger.com (hadashi) — Thu, 22 Mar 2012 05:17:00 +0000

at some point, when i've gotten a better grasp of how to manage life in between breastfeeding every two hours, i will post more, and perhaps wrap up this chapter of the blog. but i am deeply, truly, to-my-core humbly joyful in telling you that Lukas safely entered the world on his due date (!) -- 12th March 2012, at 22:12, weighing in at 8 lbs. 4.6 ozs (3759 grams) and measuring 20.5 inches (52 cm). words cannot express how incredibly grateful i am to all of you for coming along on this journey, which has simply now started down another road. you are our village of hope and love, and we could not do this without you.
thank you thank you thank you.

Week Thirty-Nine

noreply@blogger.com (hadashi) — Tue, 06 Mar 2012 01:27:00 +0000

so i had a checkup this morning -- and to stave off your inevitable questions i will say up front: all is well and proceeding with textbook normality, and it looks like the little guy might actually decide to arrive around his actual due date. no dilation yet but he's engaged and effacement has started. so yay and stuff.
it was an early-morning appointment -- usually i have the nurse schedule me in as close to 7am as possible so that the clinic is quiet and my fabulous OB isn't too stressed out yet. since she is indeed awesome, and thus takes the time she needs with her patients, this means that later in the day she's inevitably somewhat tired.
the nurse hooked me up to the blood-pressure monitor, strapped the cuff on, and left to attend to something else. since i was right outside the door of the examination room my doctor was in, i could hear everything she was saying, even though it was closed. naturally, i wasn't really paying attention until i heard her say "look, don't be discouraged just because of your age. i can give you the infertility facility's number if you want to find out if they can see you."
suddenly, with those words, i was plunged into an emotional cauldron of a time machine. i remembered the sadness i felt even having to dial that number. my heart clenched recalling the drowning feeling i had when i was told i couldn't even get a consultation simply because of the type of insurance plan i have.
i didn't hear what the patient said, but i heard my doctor again. "yes, eggs do have an 'expiration date,' but really, you've got a lot of good years left, and i think your factors are very treatable. i think we should do some initial tests so we know what we've got to work with. now where are you in your menstrual cycle right now?"
at that moment, Tummymuffin IV put his little foot into my rib cage and wiggled his tiny bottom. and still alone in the nurse's station, my arm strapped into the beeping monitor, i began to cry. i cried for the nameless, faceless woman behind that door because i know her fear and frustration as month after month after month of still getting your period turns into precious time sliding away, irretrievably gone, taking your hope of a child along with it. i cried because i thought about that exhilarating fiery hope of each pregnancy i experienced that each resulting loss turned into bitter ashes. and i cried most because now, in an exquisite miracle, the woman with the secret smile and enormous belly that i used to look at and wonder it it would or could ever be me...IS ME. the tears sliding down my face were that mysterious mixture i've learned so well to accept now: that alchemy of coexistent grief and joy; a careful minuet of pain and gratefulness.
TM4 booted me again in the side, bringing me back to the present. i tore off the cuff and lunged for some ludicrously small squares of tissue and was just finishing blowing my nose when the nurse showed up again. "oh!" she said kindly, "babies make your nose so runny!" i just nodded. indeed they do. indeed.

Week Thirty-Seven

noreply@blogger.com (hadashi) — Fri, 24 Feb 2012 02:02:00 +0000

as of this week, i now officially have a full-term pregnancy.
this is kind of crazy for me to wrap my head around -- not the fact i am full-term with a kicking baby boy, but it astonishes me that i can post that sentence here... and it's true. looking back, i can honestly say there was a part of me that never thought i'd be able to write that. and now that i have, it feels almost like someone else's reality. because i truly believe this is a gift of grace, pretty much a miracle that i did nothing to deserve, there is a sense of wonder about it all. when i go for ~~walks~~ waddles around the neighbourhood, i'm suffused by a sense of awed gratefulness that This Is Happening, This is Really Happening.
i know my somatic therapist would tell me to be present in the moment and feel in my body the gratefulness and the marvel. it feels like a soft enveloping cocoon, this thankfulness for you -- my community of hope, and for my amazing husband, and for this body that is growing a tiny human. and of course, for said tiny human who is my son.
i'm not sure what to do after Week Forty (if we make it that far before Tummymuffin IV makes his world debut); if this blog will continue as a chronicle of TM4 or if i'll move that elsewhere. i also have no idea if our journey of family-making will continue, and if so, exactly how. but i'll let you know.
well, me and my magnificent enormous belly are now going for a grateful waddle. thank you for your continued prayers, love, good thoughts, and support.
it's the home stretch & i can hear you cheering.

Week Thirty-Four

noreply@blogger.com (hadashi) — Sun, 05 Feb 2012 06:49:00 +0000

the office is now the bedroom, the bedroom is now the office, there's a changing table, a bassinet, and a glider rocker hanging out in the living room while we get things back in place, there's an infant carseat installed in the back of my little Honda now, and...
HOLY CRAP PEOPLE THERE IS A BABY CARSEAT IN MY CAR!!!! !!!!! !!!!!!!!!!!
*excuse me*
okay, we now return to this post with vain promises to no longer abuse caps or exclamation marks.
apologies to you loyal Team Hope readers who have been wondering where i've been; i swear i had a Week Thirty-Three post started, but got massively waylaid by having to put together some kind of registry even though the whole Stuff Accumulation thing is very overwhelming and i'm fine with your hand-me-downs, seriously, and...yes, okay, i need to allow people to bless us with necessary things. it's just that as my new dad friend pointed out: this is where it gets Real. when you're looking at a tiny bassinet in the middle of the room, you have to decide if you're going to believe it'll soon have your son sleeping in it, or allow your monkey brain to skitter around with various doomsday scenarios that keep said tiny bassinet empty. and i've found that decision is less a leap of faith than it is a gradual sidling up to and gently flopping into faith.
i think last week was the first time i started being able to imagine and dream about what it might be like to actually meet our little Tummymuffin IV. apparently i'm still worried i might produce a blonde baby, since the only detail that was clear was my imagined thatch of Very Dark Hair on his wee head. my mother-in-law, who is here from Germany, told me recently that she now "enjoys to see my eyes because they show i really believe i will get a baby."
i wondered, in post after post here, how i would interact with a viable pregnancy likely to come to term. i'm finding out now in real time; i appreciate every day with my enormous belly and the way he makes her dance with all his squirming and kicking. all the uncomfortables of pregnancy seem like an eminently fair trade for a healthy baby. my marvelous OB/GYN is even visibly pleased we've gotten this far; she was so happy telling me we've now passed the last big developmental milestone, and that husbanator and i should go celebrate. which we will, but first i need to help him finish spackling all the holes in the ex-office-now-bedroom-for-three. gotta get used to that number. three.

Week Thirty-One

noreply@blogger.com (hadashi) — Mon, 09 Jan 2012 07:21:00 +0000

dear past me,
look, i know right now you're feeling all body-conscious and weird and ungainly but i promise you'll get over it. yeah, all those girls with curves make you feel like an unsexy boy and if one more person tells you how "cute" you are you will cry inside silently. yes, it sucks.
it's hard for you to understand this, mainly because your age starts with the number 1, but you're going to have a rollercoaster relationship with your body your whole life. you're a woman, and that is reality for a woman who accepts her female-ness and the pressures of her psyche, society, and her pituitary gland. here's what i know: you will come to actually like your body. you will one day enjoy wearing dresses. you will -- miracle of miracles -- even love your...shall we say...compact bosoms. i know you think this is crazy, but people will think you're "athletic" and at one point you will even teach a kickboxing class. and as for your perceived clumsiness, you're going to meet your husband in an advanced swing dance class. YES, A HUSBAND. seriously. and he's unbelievably sexy, and smart too.
here's the deal though. that rollercoaster? yeah, it's there. you're going to live in a city that is in love with physical youth and beauty, and is one of the most vain places on earth. you'll have to really wrap your head around this whole femininity thing or you'll fall for the lies. and it's going to get seriously difficult when you lose three children in a row and don't know why. hey, you'll survive it, but it'll take a lot of work and prayer and support from others. when you do end up sustaining a pregnancy, every day will be a new adventure in trust with your body as things get more joyously uncomfortable, and you feel life kicking in your belly and flowing in your veins. (you will, by the way, wish for your compact bosoms back.) and it's a good thing you're so stubborn, because there's the challenge of labour & delivery & breastfeeding, you know.
what? you think that's crazy talk? well, wrap your brain around this: when you're on your "babymoon" in Kaua'i with that aforementioned hot husband of yours, you will walk around in a bikini with that magnificent 7+ months pregnant belly and feel the sexiest you have ever felt in your life.
oh, and by the way, you might want to buy stock in something called "Google." yeah, that sounds as wacky as the whole bikini thing but just trust me on this.
love,
future me

Week Twenty-Nine

noreply@blogger.com (hadashi) — Mon, 26 Dec 2011 06:47:00 +0000

no matter what winter holiday you celebrate, this is the time of year that the entire world goes into Retrospective Mode. everyone comes out with the year's best and worst lists, year-in-review specials, etc. it's an interesting paradox -- December is an insanely busy time for most people and yet because it comes at year's end, and is often spent with loved ones, it definitely lends itself to introspection and reminiscing.
for those of you who have experienced any struggles or challenges on your journey to build a family, the holidays can be especially difficult. all that thinking about the year(s) gone by and what they did or didn't hold can be overwhelming. when the demands of the holidays spread you thin, it is easier to feel the full brunt of unmet expectations, unexpressed grief and disappointment, unsaid words of fear or anger. it's also easier to feel shame about these "negative" emotions when all the world seems decked out in lights and merriment and parties and fa-la-la-la-la-ing. when the most positive feeling you can muster is "i hope the coming New Year will at least be better than this year was," you don't feel so inclined to have what is popularly referred to as "the holiday spirit." and yet...the New Year does inevitably come, and with it a new set of hopes and dreams.
it seems almost impossible that this year contained both the loss of another child, and the beginning of another one. it seems more impossible that the coming year holds for us the promise of actually meeting that child, with all its attendant complex, marvelous, life-upending consequences. and it is honestly astounding that i do honestly say this : that i would not trade all those previous tear-stained holidays for this hope-filled, happier one -- mainly because the latter would not exist without the former. it is good to sit beside my glowing Christmas tree and reflect with gratefulness on both all that i still mourn for, and all that i am rejoicing in.

Week Twenty-Seven

noreply@blogger.com (hadashi) — Thu, 08 Dec 2011 19:02:00 +0000

for as long as i can remember, Georg Friedrich Händel's oratorio Messiah has been part of my audio landscape, especially during the winter holidays. although it was played occasionally throughout the year, Thanksgiving was the traditional First Playing of Messiah, which quickly became An Anticipated Event; it was then on semi-constant rotation through the New Year. my parents had a gorgeous box set on vinyl; as a small person i would watch my father carefully stack the shiny black discs on the record player, set the arm...and then the needle would drop. that marvelous hssssssshpop (those of you who are old (or young) enough to know what well-loved vinyl sounds like know what i mean) would begin, and then the first delicious notes of the Overture would crackle out of the speakers. i would curl up in a patch of sunlight on the living room carpet (i grew up in the tropics; it was always sunny year-round) with the big black bound box with a picture on the front of an intricately carved bas-relief ivory cross depicting Jesus' life. i would read along with the libretto, or study the dramatic faces of the ivory figures, and let the music soak into my bones along with the tropical sunlight. it should be no surprise then, that when i knew Tummymuffin IV was old enough to be able to hear well, the first music i played for him was the Messiah, through an old pair of headphones i'd cut apart to lay flat on my belly.
a few days ago, i was generously invited to attend a live performance of the full oratorio. as the first notes soared out of the orchestra, the fancy Southern California concert hall balcony disappeared and i was transported back to a sunny patch of worn carpet in Okinawa. the music and sunlight stored deep in my body met the lush notes floating up to me and became an embrace. and in that crossing of time and space, there was a moment of understanding and peace with my body: you may take joy in her again. you may trust her again. you MUST trust her again.
there has been so much broken trust with my body in the losing of three children and the struggle to become pregnant, and there has been so much work in trying to rebuild it. several weeks ago Thomas and i went to a wedding, and i wore a dress that was stretchy enough to accommodate The Belly and still be comfortable. i was astonished to find how strong and beautiful i felt in that dress, which also happened to show every new glorious curve and hide nothing. there was a bit of a learning curve in dancing with my husband at the reception; i was initially clumsy and off-balance, but we adjusted, and it was lovely to spin around the dance floor in his arms and feel glamorous in my total unwieldiness. i realized that night that Tummymuffin IV has no problem trusting this body -- his mummytiffin -- and i also realized how far i'd come in the rebuilding work if i could feel this way again.
back in the concert hall, as the Chorus "For unto us a Child is born" was sung, Tummymuffin IV started to dance. by the time we'd reached the Aria "Rejoice greatly, O Daughter of Zion," TM4 was in full happy-kicky mode; even after intermission he kept bouncing around, seemingly as contentedly happy as me. and when the final glorious notes of the multilayered Amens of the Chorus "Worthy is the Lamb" faded, i'm not certain who was the listener anymore -- the innocent, bespectacled girl curled up in the island sun in front of the record player, or the woman in the balcony with the secret smile, hands pressed against her dancing belly.

Week Twenty-Six

noreply@blogger.com (hadashi) — Wed, 07 Dec 2011 05:52:00 +0000

the latest edition of "Tummymuffin TV" -- the monthly ultrasound a few days ago -- showed a squirmy, active, growth-right-on-track little boy with fat baby cheeks. of course this is exactly what we were supposed to see -- so why was there such a breathless feeling of surprise?
a very dear longtime friend recently was telling me about how his daughter, who is almost two years old now, was doing fine -- and he had the same tone of pleased surprise. you see, she was born right around this same time, at about 26 weeks. i think he put it well: "So much can go wrong," he said, "that when it goes right it feels like a miracle."
i wrote about this some time ago after losing Tummymuffin II and staring down the long dark tunnel of infertility, not yet being pregnant with Tummymuffin III. i talked about feeling that in a parallel world, normal people just get pregnant and have babies and are happy. but that "in my version of normal, it is a struggle to get pregnant and then maybe you're actually not going to have any babies...and if you actually do get pregnant...and actually do deliver a real live healthy child then it will be A TOTAL EXTRAORDINARY JAW-DROPPING MIRACLE for heaven's sake."
the truth is that after any pregnancy struggle and loss, there is a new normal. and that new normal isn't bad or wrong -- it's just different, and it's very personally yours. while the following fact may be disturbing to some, i actually find it comforting and invigorating to know that i literally can no longer miscarry this child. if TM4 were to be lost now, he would be considered a stillbirth -- meaning he would get a death certificate (and in this state, a special birth certificate if requested). there are no such certificates for miscarriages, and while my first three children will always be quite real to me, their "legitimacy" as such will always be potentially questioned by others. this is simply the way of it; i cannot hope to convince others that a few weeks of gestation make a difference to the recognized personhood of a baby. when people see my swelling belly and ask me if this is our first, i say no, but he will hopefully be our firstborn. i believe it's an important distinction, and just as my choosing to talk about the first three Tummymuffins openly is almost always met with positive response, so is this. when i said this to one of the pool ladies who asked the other day -- she grabbed my hands and said to me in her broken English, "Oh you are so happy! Because baby is so blessing! After you sad! He is so blessing!"
ah yes, i said. yes, he is so blessing.

Week Twenty-Four

noreply@blogger.com (hadashi) — Sat, 26 Nov 2011 17:55:00 +0000

we're just skipping straight to week twenty-four here, as i've been down for the count with a nasty seasonal cold. of course, being pregs, i can't take any of the "good drugs" so i'm making do with hot lemon juice & honey, steaming my head, gargling with salt water, and quietly whining to myself. i can't really whine to the husbanator, as he's also been laid low by this virus. it's good parenting practice, i'm telling myself, taking care of a sick and crabby human whilst also being sick and crabby. anyways, i need to make another pot of chicken soup soon.
i do, however, want to acknowledge that yes. yes. we are very, very thankful this Thanksgiving. and not just for our Tummymuffin IV. you see, it was around this time of year that the Cascade of Loss began some time ago, turning Thanksgiving into It's The Most Awful Time of The Year. i lost my grandmother, a close friend, and Tummymuffins I & II during these days, so i can't really get through the end of November without thinking of all the loss -- especially our two first babies -- but at the same time, ah! i am so filled with gratefulness for them too. i am thankful that my life was so blessed to be so full of love, and at the same time i grieve the empty spaces that are left behind.
some nights ago, after one of my now-regular middle-of-the-night bathroom trips, i settled back into bed in my now-usual position: on my side, hand resting on my rounded middle. it took me a little while to drop back off to sleep, and as i lay there in the quiet darkness, i thought about how not so long ago, as Thanksgiving approached, i'd be lying awake in the dark for a competely different reason, a hand on an empty belly, trying to cry as silently as possible. that grief is still there, but muted -- and as i felt around its edges, Thomas rolled over and flung an arm over me, just as he used to when he'd somehow magically sense my soundless tears. and i realised that the peaceful happiness coursing through me as my hand and his hand rested on our growing child, the three of us for now safe and warm together, is shaped and sharpened by this past pain, and made stronger. it's as if all the salt of all those tears now flavours this miraculous joy that i often despaired of ever experiencing, and makes it savoury and full.
so yes, this Thanksgiving, i am indeed grateful -- for both all that i have been given, and all that has been taken away.

Week Twenty-Two

noreply@blogger.com (hadashi) — Sun, 13 Nov 2011 18:50:00 +0000

first of all, a huge thanks to those of you who have been e-mailing and commenting with practical suggestions to my baby gear overload confusion. it is HIGHLY appreciated. keep 'em coming. i'd always rather go on personal tried-and-tested recommendations than some website that probably got a kickback to recommend an overpriced product.
i literally have actual muffins baking in my actual oven right now -- some diabetic-friendly oatmeal applesauce creations that already smell delicious. i'm feeling the Tummy variety of Muffin in my personal body oven somersaulting around so i think he's excited about them too. is this nesting? probably, since i'm going to overhaul the bottom kitchen cabinets later today. woo, exciting!
but this is what i've wanted, and told myself i've wanted for awhile now. after almost a decade and a half of a very rewarding career, i've "retired" from it and made successful transitions in another professional direction. i'm relieved and thankful that changeover happened before Tummymuffin IV came along, but now that he definitely seems to be sticking around, i've been very aware of how the rhythm of my life has changed. i checked out a book from the library about making the shift from full-time professional to full-time parent. i'm being added by friends with small kids to online groups with names like "Booby Brigade" and "Raising Baby L.A." on one hand, it feels utterly disconcerting, but on the other, i've already had three tries wrapping my little brain around potential parenthood. i don't need to wonder if this is really what i want. i know -- we know -- this is what we want.
however, i am still somewhat perturbed that with today's deal-of-the-day bulletin (by the way, if you like Groupon-style deals, i highly recommend signing up with aggregator of all such things at DealRadar.com), i totally bypassed checking out the "French lingerie" offer and went straight for the "baby accessories" offer instead. *sigh.*

Week Twenty-One

noreply@blogger.com (hadashi) — Wed, 09 Nov 2011 01:15:00 +0000

it dawned on me the other day that i was actually devoting more Worry Brain Cells to things like:
-how to deal with a baby registry when you just want people to give you their kids' used stuff and not buy anything
-learning you get massive cankles after a walking epidural (my neighbour just had her first baby and is being very honest)
-if i get a footstool for the new easy chair will that work for nursing?
-where will we put my desk if we get a crib?
-you mean we have to find the best crib/carseat/stroller/nursing pillow/changing pad/cloth diapers or not/MY BRAIN IS EXPLODING
-argh, i need to get new bras...again.
-what do i want for a baby shower? how would i know? this is like my wedding: i didn't start thinking about it until it was actually needing to happen.
- oh dear, i need to record the husbanator talking to the baby in German and play it through headphones against my belly every morning. this should have happened yesterday!!
-will i really be able to eat rice again once Tummymuffin IV is here?

okay, sure. maybe these are typical concerns for a woman who's passed the halfway mark in her gestation. but this all feels kind of surreal to me, because it means that somehow i'm not spending as many Worry Brain Cells on:
-is Tummymuffin IV still alive?
-will i see a heartbeat again at the next ultrasound?
-did i somehow just do something obscure that will massively compromise TM4's health/life?
-can i really possibly still be pregnant with a live baby?
-will i ever stop feeling that jolt of fear when i think about loving this baby?

the transition from these deep-seated fears to more mundane, chittering worries is almost amusing to me as keep-you-up-at-night anxieties are stealthily replaced by crap about things called Boppy or Graco. i'm not so naive as to think that those fears, so familiar to any woman who's carried and lost a child, will ever be gone or replaced. but it makes me realise that an emotional place i formerly saw as unimaginable is happening to me now.
meanwhile, any suggestions about essential baby gear is appreciated. and any explanations as to why someone would pay $1200 for a stroller. (!?!?!?!)

Week Twenty

noreply@blogger.com (hadashi) — Sat, 29 Oct 2011 21:15:00 +0000

well, here we are...halfway through the proper baking time for a nicely-done Tummymuffin. the oven, that is, the Mummytiffin, is expanding at exponential rates, and now strangers are making direct comments about pregnancy, so clearly i don't just look suspiciously plumpy anymore.
my mother just got here for a visit and already in the first half-day she's done all the dishes, bleached my sink and dish drainer, and taken down the bathroom trash. this is of course after i'd cleaned the house for her arrival. i won't lie; it's nice having the Mommy House & Cooking Fairy around, but it's nicer to have her company in happier times. the last time she was here on her own with me was to care for me as i went through having to chemically induce my second miscarriage.
it strikes me now how so many of the events of my last few years are woven around my fertility (or lack thereof) as a time marker. no matter how hard you may try to not let family-making become all-consuming, the times of conception and loss become ingrained in your memory; you need no calendar to know your ovulation cycle; various holidays become signposted with whether or not you were pregnant with which child or miscarried around then or whatever. i can't go back and change the past; nor can i control the future. the present is what i have, and the memories i have right now simply are what they are.
just as i believe that hope & anxiety must naturally co-exist, i am learning that joy & grief do as well. my joy does not diminish the grief of what has gone before, just as grief does not taint the joy in any way. if this is the current yin and yang of my emotional landscape, i have to be willing to walk through it with my eyes wide open, taking in all the scenery, not just selected details. i can acknowledge that before every ultrasound i am convinced that we'll find a still little body with no heartbeat, and not flinch from this terrifying feeling; i can simply accept that it's there are move forward. in the same way, after every ultrasound in which we've watched Tummymuffin IV flip and punch and cavort and show off, i can open myself up to the flood of gratefulness and excitement and accept its blessing.

Week Nineteen

noreply@blogger.com (hadashi) — Wed, 19 Oct 2011 16:31:00 +0000

my last grandparent died this week.
almost 94 years ago, in December of 1917, the mother of my father, Anna Elizabeth Hutchinson, was born near Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, and from the very beginning, she had an independent mind and a fierce spirit. growing up essentially as an only child -- her older sister left for college and her older brother died when she was quite young -- she had both the freedom of a small-town childhood and the benefit of a good education and parents that encouraged her to learn all she could. when she went to Antioch College in Ohio, she decided to change her name to Anne, as she "never felt like an Anna; it was just too harsh." Antioch was a good fit for her; even then it was known for its anti-racism, pro-activism, and progressive thought. it was also there that she met Martin John Gieschen, who became her husband of more than 50 years. as those years unspooled, they learned how to run a farm, an independent movie house and grocery store, and finally my grandfather's art career. my aunt and father were born, there was a move to New York, and through it all my inimitable grandmother always stayed busy learning new skills, working outside the home, and later, when they were retired, exploring the great American outdoors with a small trailer and their trusty "Monster," a Chevy Suburban. she also happened to survive polio, two kinds of cancer, an aneurysm, and a massive heart attack. i said she had a fierce spirit, didn't i?
that spirit both inspired me and motivated me; she always encouraged my various shenanigans as a child as long as they showed imagination and creativity. she was a relentless cheerleader; during the time i was struggling to establish a freelance career in television production she would call me and encourage me to stick with my "adventurous life" and not settle for something that would "curb my freedom." she was a fan of my world travels, my choice of a husband, my shared love of cats, and my cleaning/organizational skills (she liked having me clean her desk when i'd visit) -- and she always let me know it. "you're fantastic, kiddo!" she'd write to me or exclaim on the phone, and it would make me feel like a gajillion dollars.
about 9 days before she would peacefully slump over at the dinner table and quietly leave this life, i happened to catch her at a lucid time on the phone. she was excited to know that Tummymuffin IV would be another great-grandson. "oh boy, your father is in trouble!" she hooted, "he won't know what to do with him, since he has only daughters!" she told me she was happy that it was looking like we would finally have a child; as a pregnancy loss survivor herself, she'd been supportive through the last several years of good news/bad news about her Great-Grandtummymuffins.
i'm deeply grateful that i was able to have a relationship with both my grandmothers; each of them strong women who lived long lives with energy, fullness, and a powerful love for their families. my mother shows no sign of deviating from this pattern; i have no reason to doubt my inheritance of female courage and spirit. with this full turn of the wheel of generations for me, i think about how high this sets the bar for me in my heritage. i promise you, TM4, i'll do my best. as another amazing female family member wrote to me: "you are lucky to have had loving grandparents, and that you had such quality time with them in life. life will renew soon, and your new son will look at you and you'll recognize something of Anne at that moment. that's some of the miracle." i believe her.

i love you, Grandma. enjoy meeting your Great-Grandtummymuffins Isabela, Tim, and Talitha. i'm sure you'll know who they are.

national pregnancy & infant loss remembrance day

noreply@blogger.com (hadashi) — Sat, 15 Oct 2011 13:02:00 +0000

today is October 15th: National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day.

each year, somewhere around one million pregnancies in America alone end all too soon: in miscarriage, stillbirth or the death of a newborn child.

October was designated, over 20 years ago, as National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month. this day, the middle of the month, was finally designated 3 years ago as a remembrance day to bring comfort, healing and unity to parents (and their family & friends) who have suffered a pregnancy or infant loss. many observe it by lighting a candle from 7:00-8:00pm during their local time, knowing that many around the world are doing so and feeling less alone in their grief.

the point of October 15th is that it allows parents to openly remember their loss, and to have their loss recognised, without any shame or apology. too often, they aren't even comfortable identifying themselves as "parents" if they have no living children. however, they have experienced the love and hope for a child just the same, even if it was for too short a time, and the lives of those children are just as significant and meaningful than if they had been born.

pregnancy loss is so often kept as a tragic secret, because society is not only uncomfortable with grief, but also confused as to how to reach out and offer support. many are hesitant to acknowledge the loss because they're afraid they might cause more pain by doing so. on the contrary, a parent who's lost a child probably thinks of them often, and any remembrance of that child is appreciated and treasured, especially because they only live on in memory. when you are courageous enough to come alongside someone who is grieving and put your arm around them -- literally or figuratively -- you are giving them invaluable gifts: knowledge that they're not doing this alone, empathy in their pain, and hope for the future.

so today, if you or someone you love has experienced miscarriage, stillbirth, or newborn death, please don't be afraid to remember and recognize the loss, and offer comfort and unity to those whose hearts need healing.
thanks.

Week Eighteen

noreply@blogger.com (hadashi) — Fri, 14 Oct 2011 15:08:00 +0000

one hears a lot about "Mommy Milestones" when reading parenting or pregnancy material, and many of them have to do with the obvious: hearing/seeing a heartbeat, feeling your baby kick, finding out the gender, etc. while these are all indeed momentous, i think mine are quieter but no less significant:
* finding myself saying "when the baby is born" more often than "if the baby is born"
* being complimented on the cuteness of my "maternity top" by a female stranger
* noticing the way my husband's hand now almost automatically goes to rub my swelling belly when we're sitting on the couch or lying in bed together
* just having the aforementioned no-longer-hideable swelling belly
* having another pregnant woman ask me for advice
* finding that sleepless nights because of a baby are now more about hormones/bulky body/extra blood volume/etc. than about grief or fear

i've written before, especially using my lake metaphor, about how pregnancy after loss is a very different experience, and the farther we progress, the more certain i am of this. i am more comfortable with the co-existence of hope and anxiety as they stay more in balance, for which i am alternately astounded and relieved. there were many times i did not believe that a healthy pregnancy/live birth was possible for me, let alone a healthy pregnancy in which i was not paralyzed constantly by terror, or worse, fatalism.
to discover the depth of healing and growth that has happened -- and is still happening -- is a mommy milestone in and of itself.

Week Seventeen

noreply@blogger.com (hadashi) — Fri, 07 Oct 2011 15:01:00 +0000

*and now, for an entirely lighthearted post...*

there was a lot of waving, wiggling, and somersaulting during the last ultrasound. and we're happy to tell you it's highly likely that...

Tummymuffin IV is a boy!

in other amusing news, a friend of mine who resides in Edinburgh, Scotland, suggested that carrying the Tummymuffin makes me... the Mummytiffin*!
I LOVE THIS NAME. it makes me giggle uncontrollably, especially when i say it in my decently fake English accent.

*a tiffin is basically the Southeast Asian version of the Japanese bento box, with which i grew up, and have great affection for. i have great affection for tiffins too, because i love clever and pretty containers. (i even have an international tiny box collection from all my travels.)

Week Sixteen

noreply@blogger.com (hadashi) — Sun, 02 Oct 2011 01:26:00 +0000

Tummymuffin IV is definitely getting harder to hide; i'm going to have to get a two-piece bathing suit soon as my usual swimsuit that i use for lap swimming is starting to, uh, stretch in all the wrong places. luckily i usually am at the pool when it's empty except for a couple of older ladies who have already started to give me baby advice. the best bit so far: "don't listen to what anyone else says (glaring at other chatty older lady), it's YOUR BABY!" and then she proceeds to tell me all about how not to breastfeed. i heart the pool ladies. usually.

so, a few words about where the blog may be going. one of the unexpected things about this space -- besides the fact that what was going to be a Q&A about pregnancy turned into a wrenchingly honest journey through the hard terrain of three losses and infertility -- is that it's apparently becoming a resource of the sort that i tried so hard to find when i first miscarried. there are literally hundreds of blogs out there about pregnancy loss and infertility, and it can be daunting to sort through them. i've started posting links to sites i've found helpful, and i'd appreciate any comments from those of you who might have suggestions of your own. while i will continue to update you weekly on TM4's progress, you might also see a post here and there relating to the ongoing emotional/spiritual/life processes of coping with loss as well as comprehending a so-far healthy pregnancy after loss. i know that for some women facing a fresh loss, hearing about a successful pregnancy can be hard, but my hope is that as i work through this, my story might help others the same way that the stories of other strangers helped me. one of my biggest fears after even the first miscarriage was feeling it would be impossible to have a happy, emotionally well-balanced pregnancy anymore, and reading about how other women fought their way to healing and well-being gave me hope.

it's hope i continue to hold on to. i have more days now where i think: i am pregs, therefore i will have a baby rather than: i am pregs, but maybe not much/any longer. i've come to accept that maybe i will never shake that second thought completely; it's a natural part of my cumulative experience, but i do notice hope and anxiety are twin feelings for any parent at any stage of their kid's development. i'm learning to let both of them coexist peacefully; when i do, the hope usually floats to the top eventually.

Week Fifteen

noreply@blogger.com (hadashi) — Tue, 27 Sep 2011 01:04:00 +0000

so we still haven't figured out how or when to do a big general announcement to the wider public; instead we're still slowly but surely telling people as it's natural -- especially when seeing them personally, so there's no awkward wondering about my Expando-Self. at this point, we're thinking we can wait until we find out what Tummymuffin IV's gender is, and then have even more complete news to share. hey, it's a convenient excuse.
this week we celebrated our wedding anniversary, and it felt quite different from the other ones. two anniversaries ago, we found out i was pregnant with Tummymuffin II on the night before our anniversary, for which we had planned a sushi dinner and go-karting. ah well. last year, i had just undergone a whole round of tests for why i wasn't getting pregnant again at all, and we tried to ignore that elephant in the room and simply celebrate us. so it was rather shiny and new to talk about how if all keeps going well, this is our last anniversary without needing a babysitter. i admit, over dinner we were That Couple, you know, the giggly hand-holding-across-the-table gooey-gazing-at-each-other people. which made me giggle more because i kept thinking, yeah, and i'm obviously preggers and i bet some people with kids are thinking: Well, You Newlyweds, That's All Gonna End REAL Soon.
now, i know you parents out there are not gonna lie; it's a lot more difficult to swoon around your spouse when you're sleep-deprived and poopy-diapered-out, but i know you're also not gonna lie and tell me romance dies with childbirth if people are willing to Make An Effort. i guess all i'm saying is, we've become much more aware of our "limited" just-us-two time, and we're trying to take none of it for granted. i would honestly trade all the extra mornings of sleeping in that we've had the last few years for the other Tummymuffins to have survived, but now with the everyday reality of Tummymuffin IV's continued presence, we're reminding each other that things like "quiet Sunday afternoons" are a huge luxury.
although we suspect that "fun family Sunday afternoons" are also a huge luxury. we're psyching ourselves up for that trade.

Week Fourteen

noreply@blogger.com (hadashi) — Sun, 18 Sep 2011 05:42:00 +0000

no really, this is seriously officially the second trimester.

***pause for me to stuff brains back in from head exploding***

yeah, i'm still trying to believe it. of course the fact that i need to wear either very elasticishly-waisted garments or a maternity band at all times is an ever-present reminder. not to mention that 4x/day blood-drawing thing for the gestational diabetes. i have to say, that has turned out to be a good thing: firstly, it forced me to eat throughout the seasick months, and secondly, i'm sure it's made me eat about nineteen gabillion times more healthily than i would if left to my own devices. seriously, if i didn't have to worry about my blood sugars, i'd probably be baking scones every morning and drinking boba taro slushies all the time and hovering around Yogurtland constantly and going to sushi every week (oh hush, an entire nation called Japan has survived eating sushi while pregnant. look, i didn't say downing a bottle of wine every week, but that's a nation called France, or Italy...). i'm sure my body and Tummymuffin IV will thank me later for my enforced self-control.

we still haven't widely "announced" our news yet, but i'm taking baby steps (no pun intended. well, maybe not.). a few days ago i was onsite at work, and all my favorite coworkers were in one room...i took a deep breath and said heysincewe'reallhereishouldtellyouwe'reexpecting. hilariously, two of them immediately high-fived and claimed to have suspected for several weeks. seeing that one of them is 8 months pregnant and the other one just came back from maternity leave, okay, yes, maybe they did understand what was going on that day i was desperate to get to the fridge to eat my baggie of cheese and hardboiled egg. but still, i was actually surprised at how nice it felt to have all these people be happy.

plus, it's getting much harder to hide. i've gone from "did she have too much to eat at lunch?" to "hmm, she seems to have gotten plumpy over summer" to "is she shoplifting a large summer fruit under her shirt?". and apparently i've started giveaway (i'm told) mommyish gestures: either unconsciously rubbing my expanding belly or draping my arm over the top of it. this is what sold us down the pregnancy river tonight at a backyard party that Thomas' grad school class was having to kick off the new term. the sharp-eyed observer asked, i confirmed that yes, we are, and WOO! all of a sudden we were surrounded with excited, exclaiming people -- cups appeared and wine was poured (and yes, the Italian did tell me i should drink it -- oh hush again! i didn't!) and toasting happened, over and over, and there was a lot of hugging and Thomas was laughing and laughing.

thinking back, i did feel awkward in that moment; i felt like all that congratulations wasn't deserved yet: let's see if (s)he makes it first! is still a primary thought i often have despite my best efforts. but now, here, at the end of the day, i realise that this was the first time we've experienced what it's like to tell

Publish Post

non-family/close friends and enjoy the reaction. i'm soaking in the blooming warmth in my heart, and i'm understanding what a good and wonderful thing it is to share joy like that.

maybe i can get used to this...

Week Thirteen

noreply@blogger.com (hadashi) — Sat, 10 Sep 2011 23:22:00 +0000

it's been a big week for us and our Tummymuffins.

saying goodbye to Tummymuffin III seems to have made more room for us to get used to the fact that Tummymuffin IV is still with us, and boy is (s)he is looking more like a little human every day. (s)he performed splendidly for the ultrasound probe, flipping and flexing and prompting my OB/GYN to declare "this is really such a cute baby!" (and she claims she doesn't just say that about every fetus.) i think TM4 was just showing off for daddy, whose last view, around week 8, was of a teeny froglike creature with stubby proto-arms....and now, here was this giant (in relation to the size of my uterus) very baby-esque person waving around fingers and toes! yes, he was suitably impressed with his child.

and with that, we're officially into the second trimester. what what?! i'm still trying to wrap my head around that. the seasickness has not magically disappeared, but it's getting much better. the idea that we still have a real live baby that is, so far, showing very normal and healthy development feels so exotic and new and shiny that i'm still wearing loose clothes and saying nothing to the general non-blog-reading public. i simply don't even know quite how to say it to myself yet. it doesn't seem very festive to announce: Hey Everyone, We Might Have A Baby If It Continues To Survive! and yet -- this is how i still feel. i know this is another obstacle in crossing the Lake of Post-Pregnancy-Loss Fire, and you know what? i'm totally up for the challenge of navigating it. i just need to strategize...meaning: have another therapy appointment.

meanwhile, General Non-Blog-Reading Public Who Will Not See This Post Anyway: please stand by.

goodbye, little Three

noreply@blogger.com (hadashi) — Thu, 08 Sep 2011 05:00:00 +0000

since we don't know for certain when each of our lost Tummymuffins left us -- and quite frankly, we'd prefer to remember them for life rather than death -- we've chosen to memorialize their due dates rather than when we found out they were gone. having a ritual letting go -- naming them and saying goodbye -- has been enormously helpful to us in healing. for me, i've felt that i can "leave" my child and not keep dragging them around with me in an unhealthy way, still knowing that of course they'll always be with me, both physically and emotionally; even as life moves on, their tiny lives are part of mine forever.
and so our first one was left in one of the oldest churches in Rome, under a lovely mosaic. our second was left in a tiny ancient roadside chapel in Thomas' German hometown. as the date for our third approached, i wondered what to do or where to go, as we were here at home in Los Angeles. i only knew it should somehow be like the the other two: somewhere quiet and beautiful; a place that love and supplication have dwelt together with a holy Presence for a long time. i emailed a dear friend who's been part of this journey from the beginning to ask about a chapel i'd heard of; she said it wasn't a good place for that sort of thing, but suggested that i look into another place that was special to her; the oldest Protestant church in L.A. in continuous service. i'd never heard of it before, so i called to simply see if they open the sanctuary during the week for people who want a quiet place of prayer & reflection.
what transpired was nothing short of a miracle of compassion and grace.
the senior minister's assistant, instead of saying "no" (which was the technically correct answer; a school is also on the church grounds so they cannot leave it open to the public), offered to personally let us into the sanctuary whenever we wanted to come, even giving me her personal cell phone number to make sure she didn't miss us. it seemed quite random, but that sort of generosity of spirit isn't something you say no to. as we drove to an address in the middle of the bustling, breakneck city of concrete and glass, i wondered how any place here could possibly be, well, special.
when the GPS signaled us to to turn, it was obvious where we were going. rising out of the bland sidewalks and chunky office buildings was a gorgeous gothic-revival cathedral building, all vaults and towers and graceful arches. the minister's assistant, who met us at the side entrance, quietly let us in the side door. when we walked into the sanctuary, i knew we'd been sent to the right place. colored light spilled onto the stone floor from the numerous stained-glass windows, and a hushed peace seemed to be soaked into the walls. massive trumpet-like pipes (of what i was to later learn is the largest church pipe organ in the world) flanked both ends of the room. the warm, well-worn carved oak interior felt enveloping, in a comforting way -- it was indeed clear that the Holy had dwelt here for some time.
the minister's assistant had thoughtfully arranged to have the pastor on duty available in case we wanted someone to speak with us -- were we interested? now, usually i would have reflexively said oh so politely: no, thank you, no need to bother, we'll be fine: but suddenly i realised -- these losses have changed all of that. could we have borne them without the support, love, prayers, encouragement, shared sorrow, and cheers of others? would we truly have "been just fine" without accepting that encouragement from even the most unlikely of places, without reaching out and asking for help, without turning to every source we knew for wisdom and comfort? NO. absolutely NO. and so of course i caught the polite response in my throat, swallowed, and said YES.
we were sitting in silence, simply absorbing the beauty of the place and the gravity of why we were there when the pastor on duty, a smiling woman about our age, appeared, hands outstretched to us. she welcomed us and asked for a bit of our story; as we explained as best we could why we were there, a genuine empathy sagged her body as she listened. she asked if she could pray for us, and gathered our hands together. then she looked at me -- would i mind if she laid a hand on my belly, over the growing Tummymuffin IV as we prayed? she explained that when she was carrying her children, she found it comforting to have people bless her babies with a hand on her belly, but knew not all pregnant women like being touched. of course, i said, i want him or her to be part of this.
and so we stood there in the middle of this lovely sanctuary in the improbable middle of one of the busiest neighbourhoods in sprawling Los Angeles, three strangers bound together by compassion and need, as she spoke honest and authentic words of blessing and mourning, conversing with God as a True Presence, the One whose love was there, surrounding us when we needed it the most.

after she left us, we sat on the cool flagstones of the steps to the altar, looking at the massive rose window. i laid my head on Thomas' knee and cried for awhile, but it wasn't the kind of desolate, hollowed-out weeping that i've known all too well. instead, it felt like the release that it was, the familiar internal ritual of giving a name and saying goodbye to a child that i will never hold, and letting her go. goodbye my little Three*, i thought, thank you for letting me know you while i could.
and then the music started.
with timing that was both fantastically dramatic and delightfully comedic, the massive organ began thundering out a triumphant voluntary, the sort of music that plays in movies when the heavens open and the good prevails. somehow the tears kept falling but now we were laughing instead of crying. wow, she gets her own farewell soundtrack! i said. unbeknownst to us, we had somehow managed to come right before the organist usually begins his regular practice.
so we stayed for a bit, sitting there with our backs to the organist, just listening to the music surround us in all its layers and complexity. if you've ever be lucky enough to hear an accomplished pipe organist play music specifically written for such a magnificent behemoth of an instrument, you'll know it's like hearing a choir -- so many voices, tones, rhythms, musical lines all at once. the melodies and harmonies poured from the pipes, like sparkling rain into an already-rushing river. it felt healing to just soak in it.
driving home, Thomas looked at me. do you feel any different? he asked. i think so, yes, i replied. do you feel pregnant now? he asked. i laughed, but then saw he was serious. and i thought about it, looked inside, and yes -- there was a new feeling, a new lightness and a new acceptance of the fullness of my womb.
and so i am learning: perhaps the most important part of letting go is making ready to receive.

our deepest gratitude to Heather and Shanna of First Congregational Church of Los Angeles, who extended such compassion and love to two grieving people, and truly exemplify what it means to be a part of the family of God.

*a week ago, slowly waking from a lucid dream, i saw in my mind a name i didn't recognize, but that still seemed oddly familiar. i couldn't shake it, so i asked the Googles and Wikipedia, which told me that it meant, depending on the language, either "The Third" or "Little Girl." and so i thought: well, i guess that's you, TM3. as for the familiarity? it's one of the few places in the stories of Jesus where the original language was preserved, and so we know when He gently and compassionately saved a family's daughter from death, this is how he addressed her. so now, my third little leap of the gazelle, my little girl, i will always remember you as Talitha.

Week Twelve

noreply@blogger.com (hadashi) — Tue, 06 Sep 2011 04:38:00 +0000

well, here we are, almost at the end of that first trimester thingy. some of you have asked if i've gone public with this pregnancy and the answer is no. i think the mark to pass for me, at least, will be this next checkup during Week Thirteen -- Trimester One will be completely over, we'll see the So Tummymuffin Can Dance show on the ultrasound, and maybe then i'll stop wearing loose clothes and show the bump and answer questions.
or maybe not. i don't know; living with the reality of this pregnancy as a "secret" has meant also living with this pregnancy as a quasi-reality. and doing all those things hopeful excited expectant women do doesn't feel yet like my territory. i just need to get there and then i guess i'll know.
i recently wrote to a friend that it is a daily tightrope walk between fear and hope...but so much of life is, i suppose. it can be exhausting way beyond the physical tiredness that i've gotten so used to now. watching my body change as it currently is in the mirror is alternately thrilling -- for all there is to hope for and love and anticipate -- and terrifying -- for all there is to lose, especially because i know that particular route too well. each day there's more to lose. and each day there's so much more to gain.
part of me hopes that passing that first trimester mark with everyone getting a clean bill o' health will perhaps let me feel free to shift this blog back into what it was meant to be three long years ago; a place for the more experienced moms to answer my newbie questions, a happy spot of updates for Tummymuffin's fans, a way of tracking the weeks in a meaningful manner.
in a strange twist, this next checkup will be on the day that Tummymuffin III would have been born. i always wondered what it would be like for me to mark the passing of a child while carrying its sibling; with Isabela and Tim this did not happen. but with the to-be-named TM3 -- it seems almost more difficult to be saying our official goodbyes to her with a full womb rather than an empty one.
i did, in an act of faith today, have husbinator take a photo of me, hand on belly, standing by the dragon in the delightful installation piece by Ai Weiwei currently on display at LACMA, since TM4 will be a water dragon if he/she arrives as scheduled. he said it's just the first of many pregnancy photos we'll take.

Week Eleven

noreply@blogger.com (hadashi) — Sun, 28 Aug 2011 05:57:00 +0000

i just want to be happy that i get to finally post an entry with that heading.
*yay*
so i went in for what i thought would just be some screening blood work and got a Bonus Tummymuffin Show -- a fairly comprehensive ultrasound in which i discovered:
-TM4 seems to be constantly moving.
-her/his fingers are super cute.
-apparently when a tiny person smushes his/her face up against the sonogram wand thingy, he/she looks exactly like a tiny luchador.
-it seems that TM4 is already exhibiting genetic traits such as the infamous "Hutchinson Chin" (see this link for a telling photo of direct ancestor).
-perhaps later on i will be bored watching my child's antics, but right now, it's RIVETING.

this week feels like a small island of respite in the lake of blood and fire, for which i'm grateful. i need the naptime...