Comfort Zone

I spent a few hours of my Saturday at the park with Chris and Sarah from my Life Group providing some games at a Foster Parent Appreciation Picnic (say that three times fast!).   Our group had been asked a while back to provide some games at the picnic and until Sarah emailed the group mid-week, I had honestly forgotten all about it. (How long can one claim “baby brain” post-partum?)

I should mention that I was late because I thought the picnic was at a park fairly close to mom’s house.  I was taking Layla with me and Mom was going to come get her a little later for her nap. About half way to that park I started thinking that the name of that park was not the name of the park in the email, but I was already half way there, so I went to the wrong park anyway only to have my suspicions confirmed.  I was on time to the wrong park, but now I had to figure out where I was supposed to be and how to get there.  What did we do without cell phones ALL THOSE YEARS?  I called Chris, realized that the right park was too far away from Mom’s to take Layla, so I headed back, in the direction away from the right park, to drop Layla off with Mom.  In the meantime, my gas light came on and I had to stop for gas on my way to the right park. Unbelievably, I got to the right place only 30 minutes late!  Since I also had to leave 30 minutes early to get Layla from Mom, I officially achieved “worst volunteer ever” status.  I didn’t help with set up or tear down.  I played games, I ate a chicken tender, and I left.  Oh, and I sat by myself and cried in front of total strangers.   

After lunch, this mama got up to speak about a new association that she’s interested in starting and before she sat down, she shared something she’d written about being a Foster mom.  It could’ve been written by any one of those mamas there.  It could’ve been written by me.  She shared about a baby that, for a time, her family thought they would get to keep forever.  She mentioned, honestly, wishing the birth mom would mess up. She confessed that she’d rejoiced when things happened that prolonged the child’s stay in her care. She talked about the nervousness she felt every time she had to interact with the birth mom or got notice of another court date.  She began to cry as she shared how deeply she fell in love with this baby that was not hers but felt like hers in all the ways that matter.  She had to catch her breath before telling about watching the social worker leave her house with the little girl for the last time.  She said she’d sworn that she would not open her heart again for any other child.  She said she promised to protect herself from that kind of pain in the future.  And because she was standing there baring her soul to other foster parents, I knew she had lied.

I sat there by the potato chips and sobbed.  I’ve always known that we were not the first or the last family to fall in love with a baby and not get to keep her forever.  I know more baby loss moms than I wish existed.  But, there’s something different about this type of loss.  Being a baby loss mom is something that is totally, 100 percent out of your control.  Short of making the decision to never conceive, there’s nothing you can do to guard your heart against that type of loss.  But, you can choose not to experience the kind of loss that mama shared about and the kind of loss we experienced when Amoura’s mama took her back from us.  Who in their right mind would go through that kind of pain and then willingly put themselves in the position to potentially have it happen again?

Much to the dismay of my mother, I would.  I watched those families in that park loving on kiddos that look nothing like them, and I ached to do the same.  I watched them treat little boys with dark brown skin and afros askew with the same love as the kiddos with their own blonde hair and dimply grins. I could just picture our family there in a few years with Layla running around with a brother or sister that looks nothing like her. I honestly can’t believe more Christian couples aren’t more involved in Foster care.  Several years ago, long before I had interest or experience with fostering, I heard a statistic that only 1 in every 12 Foster parents are Christians.  Are you kidding me?  James 1:27a says that “Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress,” and the most we’re managing is 1 in 12?  I’m not necessarily saying that all Christians must become foster parents, but I do think all Christians should prayerfully consider it. 

So, that’s where we are.  We are prayerfully considering it.  It’s not something to rush into or take lightly or assume that since our experience with Amoura was wonderful (in that she was truly the easiest baby ever and took to us quickly and was a perfect little fit for our family) that all experiences will be the same.  We have our own child to consider and we would like to eventually add to our family the traditional way as well.  But, we think that foster care is in our future.  We know we want to be involved in meeting the needs of children without parents (whether permanently or temporarily) in some form or fashion.  I’m learning about lots of needs and ways to help through the Orphan Ministry at our church.  If you’re reading this and you’re even the slightest bit interested in knowing more, I’d love nothing better than to walk this journey alongside other families who wish to do the same. 

This little video was shared recently with our Orphan Ministry team and I thought it was a great reflection of many of our reactions when we hear about a need. You can apply the message to most any type of need presented in a church or community, this just happens to focus on foster care and spoke volumes to me as I watched. As much as I don't want to have my heart broken again by the loss of another child, I don't want to be too guarded to be used, either.  

As always, thanks for reading, and thanks for joining us in prayer!

I'm Back

Full disclosure: I was cleaning the sink Saturday night when I decided that I would start writing again.  Cleaning the sink always reminds me of my Nanny.  When I was in college and lived with Ashley and Jenilee on Mallard Ln, Mom and Nanny came to visit us one weekend.  Nanny hadn’t been there 5 minutes before she went to wash her hands in the kitchen and just had a fit over our kitchen sink.  Apparently, it wasn’t very clean.  Apparently, none of us had been taught the proper way to clean a sink. Apparently, the proper way to clean a stainless steel kitchen sink is with a little bit of Comet a whole lot of elbow grease. Before they headed back down the mountain, I had my own little cylinder of Comet and a sink that anyone would’ve eaten out of.  That is just one of countless memories I have of things my Nanny taught me.  And, when I put into practice things I learned from her, I feel as close to her as if she were sitting in my kitchen critiquing my efforts.  So, when I was cleaning Saturday night (because I am just that cool!) I thought about her and lessons I’ve learned from her and how I used to write about things I learned but stopped some time ago when my life got crazy busy and crazy happy and there just wasn’t anytime to breathe much less write for writing’s sake. 

I’ve thought a lot since my last blog (6 months ago) about how I would start writing again and if I would start writing again and how I could bridge the gap between then and now.  And, I can’t.  That’s a whole lotta life to cover in one blog or several.  If I tried, I think it’d take away from where I am now and things have gotten so good that I don’t want to miss a second of now looking back on then (although then wasn’t half bad itself).  There are some popular versions of Shakespeare plays floating around the internet called “60 second Shakespeare.” So, here’s a 60 second version of the last 6 months of our lives.

Christmas with two babies was insanely entertaining and exhausting.  Major drama with Amoura’s mom allowed us to have her on Christmas Day but also got the ball rolling towards her leaving us.  She moved to SC to be with her mom on January 21^st. It’s hard to pick the worst tragedy in one’s life so I’ll call “losing” our first baby girl 16 months after losing our first baby boy a cruel tie in level of difficulty.

Christmas also marked the start of Layla’s colic and for the next 8 weeks, I spent hours a night pacing the floor trying to console a miserable-but so so adorable- baby girl.

In February, after a ridiculous amount of discussion, Skip moved his office out of the house and 2 miles away to a little studio/office of his own.  I was pretty against it, but must admit, it’s been a good change for him and the business.

In March, Layla finally decided the world was a happy place to be and we celebrated with road trips to Georgia and to Lynchburg.  We started cloth diapering and I joined a natural parenting page on FB where the moms never cease to amaze me with their natural remedies and drug free (sometimes at home) births! 

I did two online diet bets between March and early May and by the time Layla hit six months, I was back to pre-Layla (although not pre-Levi) weight and got $28 richer. 

School is rapidly coming to a close and I am preparing to teach 10^th grade next year, a course I’ve never taught that’s full of texts I’ve never read.  I'm oddly excited. 

We’ve started Layla on solid foods using a method called “baby led weaning.”  We skipped the mushy rice cereal and, for the most part, don’t give her purees.  She eats whole, soft foods she can “chew” with her gums.  It’s awesome to watch.  I am still breast feeding, and after a painful start, it’s going well and will hopefully last until after her first birthday.

Possibly the best thing to happen in the last 6 months is that my dear friend Kimberly realized her dream of becoming a mom.  In one of those “I will always remember where I was when I got the news” texts, she sent me a picture of her and baby Quinn and I was almost as happy as I was finding out my own babies were on the way.  Our mom walks and talks have become some of the best hours in my week.    

The next best thing that happened is that after three months without seeing Amoura, we were invited to visit her in SC for the day to welcome home her new baby sister.  She remembered us and for the first time in a long time, I felt whole again.  We are working on our relationship with her mom and are hopeful that we will get to have a steady presence in their lives moving forward.            

That might’ve been a tad more than 60 seconds, but barely scratched the surface of the past 6 months.  I hope to write more about the present.  My blogger friend/baby loss mom hero/idol Brooke says she writes sometimes just so she can remember the mundane, everyday happenings her life.  I wanna do that, too.  I hope I will stick with it. And if I do, I hope you’ll read it. It feels good to be back.

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!

Distractions

It’s just before 7am and I’ve been awake for a while.  When I realized I was not going to be able to fall back asleep, I knew I had to get up and take advantage of a quiet moment to write.  I have really missed updating the blog the past month or so and really appreciate those of you who’ve asked me to write again.  Two ladies Skip didn’t know at a wedding a few weeks back actually came up and asked him when I was going to post again because they check everyday.   Ever since school started back, between teaching online, teaching with new technology in my high school classroom (one to one laptops, people!), planning my maternity leave, two-three times a week doctor visits, coordinating visitation and trying to keep Baby A’s birth mom happy, and soaking up what’s left of her only-childhood, I have gone to bed many nights promising myself I’d writing in the morning.  Lots of my distractions have also been my salvation leading up to Layla’s scheduled induction this Tuesday, so I wanted to share a little bit about a few things that have kept me hopping.

Teaching has always been my passion.  I knew in 9^th grade I wanted to be a teacher.  I knew then that even though I didn’t love reading like most of my English teachers did, I loved words themselves enough to make up for it.  Luckily, my love of literature kicked in in college and I basically love everything about my job.  This year has been no different and I have some of the best students I’ve ever had.  In many ways I’ve left like a first year teacher learning new technology tricks and upping my game in the digital age.  It’s been challenging and caused me to reflect on my teaching practices and has been very, very time consuming.  The good news is, I THINK it will make maternity leave a bit easier since I can communicate with my students online and assign work through my class website.  I left school yesterday after 4PM and spent another few hours last night getting stuff planned.   I don’t feel ready to be gone for over six weeks, but who ever really does?

I’ve been teaching online for the past two years, and although it’s not my high school English classroom, I enjoy it a lot, too.  The first few semesters, I used another teacher’s online layout and most of her assignments.  I wasn’t crazy about all she did, but it was done and on Moodle and I wasn’t 100% sure how to make major changes without screwing up the grading system.  Then the state changed the curriculum and change on my end was inevitable.  They even adopted a new textbook that I received in the mail in May.  My summer class didn’t meet enrollment, so I didn’t teach this summer.  When I began preparing for this year (in August), I totally forgot about the book I’d gotten in May and did an overhaul of my existing course online while sitting for my three hour glucose test.  Fast-forward to the first day of class and my email blows up with confused students who’ve never heard of the text posted for my class.  EPIC fail.  EVERY SINGLE ASSIGNMENT I’d created was not usable.  Turns out I had been left off a few department emails that would’ve clued me in sooner to my unbelievable blunder, but ultimately I had no one to blame but myself.  I’ve been playing catch up ever since trying to  stay a few weeks ahead of my students and ultimately get the whole 12 weeks assigned before Layla’s scheduled arrival.  I’ve got two weeks to go and three days “to go” in.  We’ll see.  They might get to draw me a picture for the last week!

Amidst all the lesson planning and maternity leave planning, my MFM decided that at 32 weeks, I would begin NSTs twice a week and have an ultrasound once every three weeks.  This would be in addition to my bi-weekly OB checks.  Basically, since the first week in September, I’ve been at CMC Northeast two and three times a week.  I’m grateful for the monitoring, but the scheduling of it all has been somewhat unbearable. If it weren’t for amazing co-workers that didn’t mind covering my classes, I would’ve lost a lot of sick days and possibly what’s left of my mind.  I scheduled as much as possible for after school, but that was not always an option and I ended up coming in late or leaving early quite a bit.

When the MFM fist mentioned the NST schedule to me, admitting that it was a “just in case” kind of thing and could not really prevent what happened last time from happening again, I had a few “is this really necessary” thoughts.  If what they say about last time is true (and I believe that it is) and there was nothing we could’ve done to prevent Levi’s death, then what would we be monitoring anyway?  At the 31 week mark, I had been probably more calm than most would believe and assumed I would be that way throughout.  And I haven’t been “not calm” but boy have I relished in those afternoons with the uncomfortable Velcro band cutting into my chubby sides and listening to our girl’s heartbeat.  The closer I’ve gotten to 37 weeks 3 days (I’m 37 weeks today!) the more nervous I’ve become.  Just knowing that an NST was on the horizon made this old girl feel loads better.  I’m so grateful for those in the medical profession.  It’s amazing to me all they know and can do today.  From the receptionist that scans my palm to the finger-pricker lady, everyone in my doctor’s office and the MFM office has been wonderful.  They’re rooting for a healthy baby right along with us. 

Of course, our biggest and most favorite distraction has been Baby A.  Amoura is the absolute light of our lives and we are so lucky that God has let us be her parents for the last seven months.  There’s so much to share about her, but I think she’s waking up, so I’ll have to save it for another day.  Hopefully, the next time I write, I’ll have two baby girls to write about!