One of the reasons last Christmas was so painful for me was because I had to listen to my SIL talk about all the plans she and BIL were making for their 2-year-old’s new room, now that they were expecting a baby to take over the nursery. She had no idea the discussion would be hard for me (I was even asked my opinion on paint colors), but it was. I had been hoping to be busy redecorating in January and February.
Well, now I finally get my chance—and I am relishing it. I love having all sorts of things on my (and M’s) list and trying to figure out the best times for accomplishing each task. This is my current to-do list:
1. Sell futon
2. Paint lower half of nursery (upper half’s color will not be changing)
3. Put wallpaper border along chair rail (it has already been purchased)
4. Research, buy and install new carpeting in nursery
5. Remove baby wallpaper border in M’s office that has been sitting, untouched, since he bought the house five years ago
6. Repaint M’s office, from pale purple (that matched the border) to plain white
7. Buy comfy glider for nursery
8. Paint my old bookcase a color that will match the nursery
9. Assemble crib
10. Return to B.a.bies r. us to register for items previously left off, like changing pad, crib sheets, safety gate, etc.
11. Finish scrapbooking our England trip (yes, the one from two months ago—I’m so on top of things!)
12. Put together small scrapbook of pictures of Zach (I finally feel emotionally ready for this, and I want to finish it before the second baby arrives)
13. Install curtains (which have been purchased off the registry but not yet given to us) in the nursery
14. Myriad other things I can’t even think of right now
Granted, most of this list involves M more than me. But hey, I’m supervising, right? I just love seeing everything come together after waiting so long.
Monday, June 30, 2008
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
The story
Because I am rather noticeably pregnant these days, more and more peripheral people in my life are talking/asking me about the pregnancy. Often, they ask me if this is my first pregnancy/child.
Cue awkward pause. I am not at the point where I need to talk about Zach all the time. But neither am I at the point where I can dismiss my first pregnancy and his birth for the sake of a casual conversation. This person may not have wanted to hear about my tragic first pregnancy, but it’s too much a part of the story of this baby for me to just ignore it.
I’ve got the story down to a few sentences, and by now I’m usually able to tell it without shedding a tear. It’s more of an explanation than a request for a pity party, but it still stops people in their tracks. The responses vary, but many of the women end up sharing with me the stories of their own pregnancy losses.
I’ve found that losing Zach has also changed my perspective on this pregnancy. When people ask me, “How are things going?” I pause. On the one hand, I have been extremely sick with seasonal allergies because I’m not taking half of the meds I normally take. Plus, I’m having rather severe sciatic nerve problems that cause me to wince in pain every once in a while. On the other hand, as far as I know the baby’s fine. And that’s the important part. I’m willing to suffer through a few aches and pains as long as I feel reasonably confident that things are progressing as they should.
Cue awkward pause. I am not at the point where I need to talk about Zach all the time. But neither am I at the point where I can dismiss my first pregnancy and his birth for the sake of a casual conversation. This person may not have wanted to hear about my tragic first pregnancy, but it’s too much a part of the story of this baby for me to just ignore it.
I’ve got the story down to a few sentences, and by now I’m usually able to tell it without shedding a tear. It’s more of an explanation than a request for a pity party, but it still stops people in their tracks. The responses vary, but many of the women end up sharing with me the stories of their own pregnancy losses.
I’ve found that losing Zach has also changed my perspective on this pregnancy. When people ask me, “How are things going?” I pause. On the one hand, I have been extremely sick with seasonal allergies because I’m not taking half of the meds I normally take. Plus, I’m having rather severe sciatic nerve problems that cause me to wince in pain every once in a while. On the other hand, as far as I know the baby’s fine. And that’s the important part. I’m willing to suffer through a few aches and pains as long as I feel reasonably confident that things are progressing as they should.
Friday, June 20, 2008
Woo-hoo!
This is a little belated—but better late than never, right? Please go visit Samantha at Southern Infertility and offer her your best wishes. After an insanely frustrating, neverending cycle of IVF and OHSS, she has some beautiful-looking beta numbers!
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Who was that woman from November?
About seven months ago, I remember telling my mother how bad I felt and how hard it was to imagine that I would be happy again. She told me that the grief would get easier with time, and that all I could do at the present moment was wait for time to pass.
Well, time has passed, and I do feel much, much more at peace with how things turned out with Zach. But why?
I may have mentioned this before, but as a kid I loved “Choose Your Own Adventure” books. It interested me to learn about the consequences of choices, and I enjoyed wading my way through the many different scenarios that could happen depending on which choices I made. By the time I was done with a book, I knew every possible ending and every possible path. In the Choose Your Own Adventure world, at least, I was omnipotent.
Real life isn’t like that. I will never know what my grief process would have been like if I had not become pregnant shortly after losing Zach. I probably wouldn’t want to know.
All I can work with is how I feel right now:
In many ways, the events of last November seem like a distant memory to me. When I think about the weeks spent doing nothing but watching TV and eating Butterfingers and Snickers, my heart breaks. When I think about the shopping trip with my mom during which I wandered aimlessly along the thoroughfare of the outlet mall, with no real desire to enter any stores, I can’t imagine how terrible I must have been feeling.
For about three or four months after losing Zach, I had no desire to make any real effort to get together with friends. And yes, part of that time came after I found out I was pregnant, but my pregnancy wasn’t “real” to me until after we found out there were kidneys.
Now, I’m back to my old self—I scan the weekends as I talk to friends, plotting which evenings are best for visiting which friends.
No, scratch that—I’m back to my new self, which is to say that while I still do the things I did before, I look at the world a little differently. When we found out last Saturday that the power was out at the restaurant M’s grandma had chosen to celebrate her 60th wedding anniversary, I shrugged my shoulders and said, “Well, this family has experienced much worse occasions of things not going according to plan.” Even this morning, when I was silently cursing the fact that my days at work are feeling longer and more monotonous, I felt a couple of kicks and reminded myself that monotony can often be my friend.
Does grief get easier with time? For me, it has—and as a bonus, it has made me into a better person.
Well, time has passed, and I do feel much, much more at peace with how things turned out with Zach. But why?
I may have mentioned this before, but as a kid I loved “Choose Your Own Adventure” books. It interested me to learn about the consequences of choices, and I enjoyed wading my way through the many different scenarios that could happen depending on which choices I made. By the time I was done with a book, I knew every possible ending and every possible path. In the Choose Your Own Adventure world, at least, I was omnipotent.
Real life isn’t like that. I will never know what my grief process would have been like if I had not become pregnant shortly after losing Zach. I probably wouldn’t want to know.
All I can work with is how I feel right now:
In many ways, the events of last November seem like a distant memory to me. When I think about the weeks spent doing nothing but watching TV and eating Butterfingers and Snickers, my heart breaks. When I think about the shopping trip with my mom during which I wandered aimlessly along the thoroughfare of the outlet mall, with no real desire to enter any stores, I can’t imagine how terrible I must have been feeling.
For about three or four months after losing Zach, I had no desire to make any real effort to get together with friends. And yes, part of that time came after I found out I was pregnant, but my pregnancy wasn’t “real” to me until after we found out there were kidneys.
Now, I’m back to my old self—I scan the weekends as I talk to friends, plotting which evenings are best for visiting which friends.
No, scratch that—I’m back to my new self, which is to say that while I still do the things I did before, I look at the world a little differently. When we found out last Saturday that the power was out at the restaurant M’s grandma had chosen to celebrate her 60th wedding anniversary, I shrugged my shoulders and said, “Well, this family has experienced much worse occasions of things not going according to plan.” Even this morning, when I was silently cursing the fact that my days at work are feeling longer and more monotonous, I felt a couple of kicks and reminded myself that monotony can often be my friend.
Does grief get easier with time? For me, it has—and as a bonus, it has made me into a better person.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
The "baby hiccups" and other matters
During the early part of the weekend, I was lamenting the fact that I hadn’t felt any movement for a while. We had a big family event (M’s grandparents’ 60th anniversary dinner) on Saturday, and even while everybody was smiling at us and congratulating us, a tiny thought in the back of my head put a damper on things: What if my baby is dead? (Obviously I will never be able to completely relax about this pregnancy.)
Then, at a movie Sunday afternoon, my arm jumped. I’m not kidding: As I was sitting there with my arm resting along the side of my abdomen, it was suddenly thrown into the air (OK, maybe I’m exaggerating a bit, but it was unmistakable; sort of like the hiccups). It soon became clear to me that what I was feeling was no longer the rumble of early movement, but the individuality of distinct kicks. I had been wondering when I would start to feel kicks. Apparently, for me, it has started at 23 ½ weeks. And I couldn’t be happier that things appear to be OK…for now.
I will say, however, that a portion of Saturday’s dinner was disconcerting for me. SIL’s new baby (remember, the one that was supposed to be Zach’s playmate?) decided he wanted his bottle just as SIL and BIL received their salads. I had just finished my soup so I offered to feed him. FIL and MIL were sitting next to me, and the looks on their faces as they watched me feed the baby (and a couple of the comments FIL made) made me feel like the painting Madonna and Child. If there could have been thought bubbles above their heads, they would have said, “Oh my, this is the first time we’ve seen her hold Baby M; what an emotional time!” (actually, I’ve held him once before but they weren’t there); “Ann is going to make such a wonderful mom;” “I just love seeing her with a baby!”
I was acutely aware of all these thoughts floating around us, and truthfully, I just wanted to get the baby fed. It wasn’t a “special” time for me, and it wasn’t bad either; I was simply doing my SIL and BIL a favor. I felt very, very conspicuous. I’m still not a huge baby person and I don’t see how feeding a baby from a bottle is magical.
I know, I know—I’m not being fair to my MIL and FIL. But sometimes I wish our family was a little less emotional.
Then, at a movie Sunday afternoon, my arm jumped. I’m not kidding: As I was sitting there with my arm resting along the side of my abdomen, it was suddenly thrown into the air (OK, maybe I’m exaggerating a bit, but it was unmistakable; sort of like the hiccups). It soon became clear to me that what I was feeling was no longer the rumble of early movement, but the individuality of distinct kicks. I had been wondering when I would start to feel kicks. Apparently, for me, it has started at 23 ½ weeks. And I couldn’t be happier that things appear to be OK…for now.
I will say, however, that a portion of Saturday’s dinner was disconcerting for me. SIL’s new baby (remember, the one that was supposed to be Zach’s playmate?) decided he wanted his bottle just as SIL and BIL received their salads. I had just finished my soup so I offered to feed him. FIL and MIL were sitting next to me, and the looks on their faces as they watched me feed the baby (and a couple of the comments FIL made) made me feel like the painting Madonna and Child. If there could have been thought bubbles above their heads, they would have said, “Oh my, this is the first time we’ve seen her hold Baby M; what an emotional time!” (actually, I’ve held him once before but they weren’t there); “Ann is going to make such a wonderful mom;” “I just love seeing her with a baby!”
I was acutely aware of all these thoughts floating around us, and truthfully, I just wanted to get the baby fed. It wasn’t a “special” time for me, and it wasn’t bad either; I was simply doing my SIL and BIL a favor. I felt very, very conspicuous. I’m still not a huge baby person and I don’t see how feeding a baby from a bottle is magical.
I know, I know—I’m not being fair to my MIL and FIL. But sometimes I wish our family was a little less emotional.
Friday, June 6, 2008
Empathy
Not that I would ever wish anyone ill, but I have often thought that every woman who wants to have children should have to go through at least a few barriers in her quest to be a mom. It irritates me to no end when women “plan” their pregnancies down to the month, assuming that, for example, they will be able to have their baby in May so their maternity leave doesn’t interfere with the start of school (if they’re a teacher).
Even my "hardened" heart was touched by a particular situation this morning, however.
It doesn’t work that way, people!
I’ve been talking with my co-worker, CM, over the past few days about her TTC plans. After much careful consideration, she and her husband had decided to start trying next month. Her situation is a bit unique: Because of severe endometriosis, she had one ovary removed and therefore only ovulates every eight weeks. So she was aware that trying to conceive could come with its unique problems.
However. For the past six months she has had terrible problems with sciatica, so terrible, in fact, that she has had to have four epidurals just to relieve the pain. Wisely, she saw a spinal surgeon yesterday to ask what can be done and let him know she wants to try to get pregnant.
He told her she was, under no circumstances, to try to conceive until she has her problem under control.
The way she explained it when she came into my office this morning was with only two words: “No babies.” Though she clarified a few minutes later, my eyes continued to well up with tears as I talked to her.
It sucks so much when we have no control. We try to plan, and hope, and dream, and in the end we must simply trust that God has a plan for us. I lost a child whom I loved in November. Yet that didn’t stop me from weeping for CM, whose body simply cannot handle a pregnancy right now.
Even my "hardened" heart was touched by a particular situation this morning, however.
It doesn’t work that way, people!
I’ve been talking with my co-worker, CM, over the past few days about her TTC plans. After much careful consideration, she and her husband had decided to start trying next month. Her situation is a bit unique: Because of severe endometriosis, she had one ovary removed and therefore only ovulates every eight weeks. So she was aware that trying to conceive could come with its unique problems.
However. For the past six months she has had terrible problems with sciatica, so terrible, in fact, that she has had to have four epidurals just to relieve the pain. Wisely, she saw a spinal surgeon yesterday to ask what can be done and let him know she wants to try to get pregnant.
He told her she was, under no circumstances, to try to conceive until she has her problem under control.
The way she explained it when she came into my office this morning was with only two words: “No babies.” Though she clarified a few minutes later, my eyes continued to well up with tears as I talked to her.
It sucks so much when we have no control. We try to plan, and hope, and dream, and in the end we must simply trust that God has a plan for us. I lost a child whom I loved in November. Yet that didn’t stop me from weeping for CM, whose body simply cannot handle a pregnancy right now.
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