Two Years

The first Sunday School lesson I remember at Charity was about the Ebenezer stone.  Tara talked about what the stone represented and how it seemed not to be a tiny stone, but actually a big rock or boulder.  She told us how it was placed to serve as a reminder of the Lord’s deliverance.  She encouraged us to think of some times that God had delivered us and helped us through a dark time.  She passed out little stones for us to take with us. As I held mine, I thought about the miscarriage I had suffered through the previous month while my husband was a continent away and I’d slept over at my mama’s for support. I thought about my Nanny’s battle with cancer and the wreck that nearly claimed my cousin Brooke’s life when we were 19.  I took that little stone home and put it in my kitchen window.  I’ve looked at it probably a hundred times since that Sunday morning, and I looked at it a good, long time this morning while I was fixing Layla’s breakfast.

My firstborn should’ve been two years old this weekend.  We should have been planning a birthday party to outdo his first birthday party and scolding Nanny for buying too many presents.   I should know what it feels like to run my fingers through sweaty blonde toddler hair after he’s been playing outside with his daddy.  The terrible twos should be wreaking havoc on my house and my nerves.  Two years ago, that’s exactly how I envisioned this weekend would be. Two years and I still don’t understand why things didn’t happen the way we’d imagined them. 

What I do know is that life moved on from that hollow gut, abject misery that was September of 2013.   Slowly but surely the fog lifted.  I kept getting up and getting dressed and getting loved on by my husband and family and friends and one Saturday (I can’t remember which one but I know it was after the 27^th one at least) I stopped counting the weeks since his delivery.   My blogger friend/baby loss mom/ idol Brooke said she cried every day for an entire year after her baby, Eliza, died.  That wasn’t the case for me.  Oh, I cried plenty, mostly on the beautiful back roads to and from West Rowan High School. It wasn’t that I wasn’t sad for a year because I was, it was just that I was so busy with good things.  Good things that did not replace Levi, but softened my sadness and slowly began to replace my mourning with dancing. 

Fourteen months after I delivered Levi, I delivered Layla.  With one glaring exception, my delivery experiences were very similar.  I was induced early on Tuesday morning with Layla.  Dr. Bower delivered them both, Levi at 12:10PM and Layla at 12:16PM.  Skip was on one side and Megan was on the other for both deliveries and Mom was standing just behind Megan crying both times. Oddly enough, I remember a lot more about Levi’s delivery than I do Layla’s.  Maybe it’s because the only memories I have of Levi took place in that delivery room, and Layla makes new, lasting impressions on my memory (and my heart) every single day.  Maybe it’s because Levi’s delivery was my first experience; I’m not sure.  I’m grateful that, given the circumstances, my experience was as positive as it could be. 

And I am more than grateful for the opportunity to be Levi’s sister’s mama.  I don’t imagine that he would’ve been much like Layla.  I don’t know that I would be the same kind of mama I am to her if he hadn’t come first.  I realized a few months ago that I’d only prayed one prayer for Layla since she’s been born.  Every night before I laid her down in her crib, I held her close and I prayed to God that she would out live us.  And that was it.  For the first months of her life, the only request I made on her behalf was not really on her behalf at all, but a totally selfish petition.   While I was pregnant with Levi, I envisioned so many things for his life- what he’d enjoy, who he would act like.  Those things were hard to let go of when we couldn’t bring him home, so I spent my entire pregnancy with Layla trying not to do that and just praying she would survive.   And although I now have many hope and dreams and visions for her life, outliving me still seems like a pretty big priority, which I suppose is normal for all mamas and not just baby loss mamas like me.

For a while after we lost Levi, one of the things that made me the saddest was the feeling that I was forever going to be known as a baby loss mom.  I didn’t feel guilty or responsible for what happened, I just didn’t want to be pitied everywhere I went.  Two years later, I don’t think I am. What I hope I am for those that know me best is an Ebenezer stone of sorts. The Lord delivered us from the darkest days of our lives and put a new song in our hearts.  He loosed my sackcloth and clothed me with gladness, and you all know how much I love new clothes.   I hope I never forget to give Him praise for all He’s done for me. 

Vignettes

Between settling in and learning to breastfeed and pump and returning to the hospital for another night’s stay and welcoming visitors and learning to hold two babies at once, and figuring out weight watcher points for new mommies, I have been WRITING!  What I ended up with was a bunch of “scraps” of blog posts that somewhat relate.  I’m calling them Vignettes, which only my English teacher friends will appreciate. (A vignette is a “brief description, account, or episode that can be read alone or as a part of a collection for additional meaning") 

Baby A

When we first got Baby A, I wasn’t sure how her mother would feel about my sharing her story.  I knew a lot of fancy/famous bloggers used pseudonyms for their own children, so I thought it best if I used one for her, too.  We called her Baby A a lot when we first got her.  Now she’s got about a million nicknames.  We call her “little bit” and Layla “tiny bit.”  I call her “Mo-Mo” and “girlfriend” a lot while Skip usually sticks to “precious” and “princess.”  More and more everyday, she’s becoming less of a baby and more of a big girl.  When I sat down to write after bringing our newest baby home from the hospital, I realized that as much as she’s learning and changing everyday, and since she is now a big sister, I should probably stop referring to her as Baby A and start calling her by her real name, Amoura. 

Just like That

This morning, I was changing Layla’s diaper and I could hear Skip upstairs through the monitor getting Amoura out of the crib and talking silly with her and telling her how loved she is, and the thought ran through my mind, “we’ve got it all.”  A beautiful, healthy baby girl who has my nose and her daddy’s everything else.  A toddler who gets funnier and smarter every day who ended up saving us in our darkest hour while simultaneously making us look like her heroes.  And just like that, the face of a tiny baby boy popped into my mind and my eyes filled with tears.  Because the truth is had Levi not died, we would’ve “had it all” last September.  What we wouldn’t have is Layla or Amoura.  It’s impossible to reconcile these two facts, and yet they’re my reality.  Had I not been pregnant with Levi last summer, I would’ve never met Amoura’s mom and had he not died, I probably never would’ve met this girl that calls me ma-ma and filled my broken heart with joy.  As much as I would love to have all three of my babies here with me, I will be forever grateful to my first baby, a boy, my Levi, for giving me the gifts of these two precious girls.

Vomit

We’ve never been lazy Saturday morning people.  We are I am a routine person and our Saturday routine involves eating out for breakfast and then running errands until midafternoon.  Since Layla is so new, yesterday was supposed to be a lazy Saturday, like the ones I see glorified in Face.book statuses every weekend.  I got up before Skip and the girls and cooked breakfast and got some cleaning done.  After breakfast, I was snuggling with both girls in the recliner and realized that I hadn’t had my picture made with both of them since we got home.  I asked Skip to take the picture below and before I could even send that beauty out to the masses, Amoura started silently vomiting ALL OVER both of us.  Somehow, Layla managed to avoid getting retched on even though she was tucked in my arms.  Skip hopped up and took Layla, put her in the swing and came back to finish watching the show.  I’ve never seen so much puke in all my life much less coming out of something so small.  She never cried, just looked confused and wanted to snuggle.  I tried to sit still and just let her finish since I had already become the receptacle.  I peeled her clothes off and then mine and started using the wet towels and washcloths Skip fetched us to clean us both off a bit.  I was soaked down to my underpants and smelled terrible, but it was past new girl’s feeding time, so I made do with a “spit bath” and came back to scrub down my recliner and feed her.  Skip held Amoura for an unscheduled morning nap, and by the time she woke up, she was good as new.  What was not good as new was my recliner.  It still smelled strongly of puke.   Before we had a chance to rescrub, we had visitors, so the smell lingered.  When they were gone, Skip took over the cleaning and scrubbed with 409, then vinegar, and we thought the smell was gone.  But after sitting in it for a while longer, Skip decided it was not and I had to agree.  He went to cleaning and digging deeper in the crevices once more and then we decided the smell was really gone that time. Long story a bit shorter, I am sitting in said recliner right now and the smell is not gone and short of throwing the darn thing out, I don’t know what it’s gonna take for it to smell clean again!

Is this your first?

I’ve read a lot about how painful and awkward this question can be for baby loss moms, and although I didn’t get asked too often during my pregnancy, my stay at the hospital is a whole other story.  Before the hospital, the question didn’t really bother me.  Depending on the person asking, I would explain the complicated answer.  At the hospital, however, it struck a nerve every time a new person would ask.  And I felt compelled to explain the last year and a half of our lives to them.  As much as sometimes “yes” would’ve been the easiest answer, I could not silently disregard Levi’s existence anymore than I can Amoura’s.  So, my answer became, “well it’s not my first, it’s kinda actually my third, but hopefully, she’ll be the first living child I’ve given birth to.” Because that is not at all confusing.  I told Skip after one person asked that I had to come up with a better response, but he assured me that the truth, which is what my long, drawn out answer was, was perfect.

There’s a song we sing at church “Christ in Me” that has the line “I would praise you with my life, let my story lift you high” and as I kept repeating our story of baby loss with Levi and baby found with Amoura and our newest little miracle, that line played over and over in my head and heart.  So, as touchy as “is this your first” can be, and as awkward as the people asking often feel when I’m done, I never want to miss the opportunity to say “you won’t believe what our last year has been like, but I’m gonna tell you anyway.”  The God we serve wrote a beautiful love story for our family and although it began with tragedy, He meant it for our good.  He gets the glory for our happiness in this chapter of our lives, and I hope we won’t fail to accept an opportunity to give it to Him.

My Vintage Pearl Necklace.  

Hormones

A few weeks before we had Layla, Megan asked me how I could listen to people talk about our loss and our faith and not cry a river every time.  She said, “What are you thinking about? Cupcakes? Laundry?” Honestly, I am not really sure.  I just know that I hate to cry in public and avoid it if at all possible.  I cannot count the times in the last year that I have cried all the way to work, dried my face in the school parking lot and cheerfully went on about my day.  I am a crier, but Skip is about the only person I don’t mind crying in front of, so I usually do my best to find a time and place when I am alone.  Many of my friends have told me about how weepy they were after they had their babies.  Layla will be two weeks old tomorrow and I can count on one finger how many times I’ve cried.  I was starting to think I was broken, and then last night at 11:30, Amoura started crying upstairs.  I was holding a sleeping newborn and Skip was trying to sleep off a terrible sinus headache.  I gave the baby to him and headed upstairs to calm my big girl. We rocked and I sang and put her back in the crib (which made her cry again) and I was rubbing her back when Skip texted me “Layla is hungry.”  Since I am literally the only one who can remedy this, I had to leave Amoura screaming, all alone in her crib, come back down stairs and feed Layla.  I asked Skip to go take Amoura some Motrin, but before he could get out of our room, I was bawling.  It was the first time I had to choose one girl over the other and it was devastating.  I know Layla NEEDED me and Amoura really just WANTED me, but it broke my heart.  I cried until my eyeballs hurt (they kind of still do) and thought of a thousand (irrational) ways to fix the situation (which was really not a situation at all, but a totally normal, easy to remedy fact of being a parent to more than one child).  I wanted to bring Amoura down to sleep with us.  I wanted to call my mom to come sleep with her.  I wanted to tote Layla up the stairs and hold both of them in the rocker all night.  Ultimately, I just cried and let Skip be the amazing daddy he is. 

After a few more tears from Amoura and a lot more from me, both girls were asleep.  I just lay there and thought about all the love in my heart that was coming out of my eyes.  When I was pregnant with Layla and falling more in love with Amoura each day, I remember thinking early on, “I wonder if I will love this new baby as much as I love this one.”  That probably sounds crazy, but it’s true.  My heart was so full with love for Amoura that I could not imagine loving another baby (especially one I wasn’t super convinced I’d ever take home) as much. As my pregnancy went on without a hitch, I started wondering if I would feel differently about Amoura once “my own” baby came along.  The answer is no.  I don’t.  As an only child, it has always been hard to imagine how parents’ love multiplies and they make room for all their babies in their hearts, and now I know, it just happens.  Ultimately, we know that Layla is our baby and we don’t have to drop her off for visitation or lose sleep at night over one day having to give her up, but my feelings for them are the same.  This parenthood thing is a trip, and I am so thankful are finally on it!

A Day to Remember

A year ago today, I blogged about losing my baby for the first time.  Today is the day yearly when baby loss mamas and those who love them remember their lost babies and try to raise awareness about pregnancy and infant loss.  I wrote here that I didn’t know there was such as thing as Baby Loss Remembrance Day and I wished I didn’t have to.  A year has past and so much has changed.  I am glad I know about today and have the opportunity to get loved on and supported by amazing friends and family.  The reason I know about today is the part I can’t get over.

Since I am somewhat obsessive about dates, it’s been surprising to me this year that significant dates have not been as traumatic for me as I’ve read they would be or that they are for many others who’ve been in my shoes.  This could be because I have such a cute little distraction underfoot at all times and a squirmy baby girl in my tummy.  Whatever it is, I am grateful that as I feared last year, the 6^th and 7^th of every month do not send me to bed to wallow in my grief.  So, when I did the ugly cry all the way to school this morning, it surprised me.  My tears came out of nowhere.  I tried to blame them on lack of sleep (Baby A had me up off and on all night) but that didn’t make much sense.  Finally, I gave into the knowledge that today is a special day in the lives of parents like us.  I spent the ride to school remembering my baby boy and wondering what he would’ve been like as a 13 month old and praying like crazy that his sister arrives safely in a little less than three weeks.

Part of “celebrating” Baby Loss Remembrance Day is lighting a candle at 7pm to “light the night” all over the world in memory of all the babies we’ve lost.  My Face.book newsfeed already had several pictures and references to the day at 7am this morning from my friends in other parts of the world.  A big part of me did not want to light a candle tonight.  A big part of me doesn’t want to be in this club anymore.  I want to be in the “I lost my baby but I am over it thankyouverymuch and I am having another baby and this time nothing is going to go wrong” club.  But the closer I get to the induction date and the farther out we get from losing Levi, mornings like this remind me that this is my club, these are my people.  I can do with it what I wish, but I cannot change it.  I am a baby loss mom.  My baby died.  I never got to meet him and I am most certainly not over it and no amount of adorable kinky headed babies calling me mama or brand new little girls with their brother’s initials will fill the hole that losing Levi left in my heart.  I like who I am now even more than I liked who I was before.  I am more compassionate.  I am more willing to talk to others about things that are hard.  I know who my true friends are and I try desperately to deserve them.  I appreciate my husband more.  I am a better mommy to Baby A and more sympathetic to those who want desperately just to see two pink lines on a stick.

I randomly came across a quote today that had nothing to do with baby loss, but reminded me so much of the last year of our lives: “Rejoice in the struggle, because when we choose to rejoice, the struggle becomes pretty.”  Now there have been many dark days that have felt anything but pretty, but when I think about the time that’s past since last September, there’s a whole lot more pretty than anything else.

And speaking of pretty, here are a few photos from precious friends that lit candles tonight for our boy.  Many others (including a bride/client of Skip’s that I’ve never even met) sent sweet texts and emails today letting us know that Levi has not been forgotten.

CJ made this for us.  The four sides spell out Levi. 

 It was perfect for tonight.

My Baby Daddy

Today, I shared this picture on Face.book and Instagram.

I knew Skip would not be thrilled, but I just couldn’t help myself.  To me, this is the epitome of Skip as a dad. We’ve just come in from a morning on the beach, and while I’m getting Baby A’s lunch ready, Skip is eating his own (graham crackers and peanut butter) right out of the jar.  She is perfectly content to be watching a soccer game because she’s snuggled up to da-da.  While he promptly sent a “YOU SUCK” text when I posted it, I love everything about this picture.  In my defense, he knew I was taking the picture and had ample time to hide the peanut butter or chase me away with his sticky knife.  

This parenting thing isn’t always easy, but oh my goodness, it is SO MUCH FUN and we are having the time of our lives doing it together.  Watching Skip be a daddy is one of the things I mourned the most when we didn’t get to bring Levi home with us.  When we met, I just knew that he was going to be an amazing father.  My “niece” Hailey was about a year old when we started dating and she has adored him since the first time they met.  I remember watching him with her and hoping that one day I’d be watching him with our own kids.  And now I am and it’s everything I hoped it would be.

I hear dads brag all the time about how few times they got up in the night with their kids or how few diapers they changed, and I appreciate this man I get to raise babies with even more.  During the school year, Skip got Baby A out of bed, fed her, changed her, dressed her for the day, and fixed an incredibly challenging yet oh so cute afro hair-do every single morning.  While we were at the beach, she straight refused to sleep in the crib, so every night/morning around 1AM, someone had to hold her- for the rest of the night!  Skip took his turn without being asked.  Mom and I went for a little spa get away a few weeks ago and Skip kept her all on his own (with a daytime sitter’s help-thanks Megan and Ashley!).  I’ve only done that once myself since we’ve had her, and I know it’s not easy.  He fixes her hair washes her bottles and calms her “ma-ma” down when I am get too worked up over her not being forever ours. 

When we found out that Baby Erdman #2 is a girl, I was a little disappointed.  It’s hard to explain feeling thrilled and disappointed at the same time, but I’ve been processing my reaction for over a week now, and that’s pretty accurate.  I had a little fear that Skip was going to be disappointed if it wasn’t a boy.  Many people asked after we found out if he was disappointed.  He wasn’t!  He didn’t fault my feelings, but he honestly did not care.  And now I don’t know why I even considered that he might.  This little girl has him wrapped so tightly around her finger, I can’t believe I thought another girl could be a disappointment to him.  So, here’s to Skip, my baby daddy.  And here’s hoping he hates these pictures at least a little less!

Helping da-da pack!

Baby A and da-da in their hats!

A little pre-dinner lemon eating!  She loves 'em!

'Twas the Night Before...

It’s the night before we find out if Baby Erdman is a boy or a girl.  All day, people have asked me to text them tomorrow or let them know “ASAP” and it’s taken a minute for me to realize to what they were referring.  I guess it’s only natural to compare subsequent pregnancies to the previous one, no matter what the outcome of the first one was, and this one is no different. 

Ironically, we had our anatomy scan for Levi on a Monday, too.  I remember so vividly sitting in the floor on a Sunday afternoon with pink and blue paper crafting banners we would hold for pictures just after finding out.  I thought from the time we found out I was pregnant that Levi was a boy. Skip’s family is full of boys (he’s got three -awesome- brothers) and so I’d always thought that we’d have boys, too.  A few days before our ultrasound, I started thinking maybe it could be a girl.  While I made the girl banner, I envisioned all these cute outfits and bows and having a relationship with my daughter like I have with my mama.  And if I’m being honest, I kind of wanted a girl.  But then, the moment the tech put the warm jelly and “baby looker thingy” on my belly, we saw that it was indeed a boy.  I was a little shocked at my lack of disappointment.  I was gonna be a mama to a boy!  We look the picture below and told the world about our boy. 

And this time (how many times will I write this?) is just different.  Don’t get me wrong, I am looking forward to tomorrow.  I am NOT entertaining the notion of NOT finding out (sorry, Christi).  Wondering if this baby is a boy or a girl is just not consuming my thoughts like it did last time.  The baby in general is not consuming my thoughts.  I could blame/thank Baby A for that, and to some extent she does deserve credit for being welcome distraction, but when I am real with myself, I know that my mind is just trying to protect my heart.  All I know about having a baby is delivering a dead one.  The last “routine” test I had for this little bean led to other tests to rule out serious chromosome disorders.  I feel like proceeding with caution is a smart thing to do.

Many babyloss moms choose not to find out the gender in their subsequent pregnancies.  I thought, at first, that this was more to make the statement, “we don’t care what it is as long as it’s healthy,” but since I’ve been pregnant again, I think it’s more of a guarding your heart type thing, especially for those who found out with their firsts.  I get the second thought, I really do, it’s just not something my personality will allow me to do.  I also don’t care what it is, as long as it’s healthy, but I also want to know since I can know.  And, in the interest of full disclosure, we sort of do have preference.  We are so in love with this little girl that has invaded our hearts and our home, and we would be happy to have another one, but we’d also love to be able to use all the little boy stuff that’s been on hold since September.  We know this little one is not going to replace the little one we lost, and we don’t want him/her to.  We just think it’d be really cool to watch a little boy grow up and imagine what it might’ve been like to watch our first one grow up,too.