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
Sunday, January 8, 2012
Sunday, December 25, 2011
Week Twenty-Nine
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.
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.
Thursday, December 8, 2011
Week Twenty-Seven
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.
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.
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
Week Twenty-Six
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.
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.
Saturday, November 26, 2011
Week Twenty-Four
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.
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.
Sunday, November 13, 2011
Week Twenty-Two
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.*
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.*
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Week Twenty-One
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. (!?!?!?!)
-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. (!?!?!?!)
Saturday, October 29, 2011
Week Twenty
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.
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.
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
Week Nineteen
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.
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.
Saturday, October 15, 2011
national pregnancy & infant loss remembrance day
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.
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.
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.
Friday, October 14, 2011
Week Eighteen
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.
* 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.
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