My Greatest Loss

One year ago this month I was the saddest I've ever been.

My husband and I found out we were expecting a baby... and 3 days later, I lost that baby.

There really aren't words to properly express how I felt. I was miserable. I felt loss like I had never felt it before. I cried for days. I knew that there was nothing that I could have done to prevent it and that I didn't do anything to cause it and still I blamed myself. I never felt this baby move, heard it's heartbeat, or saw it on an ultrasound and yet I loved it.

My husband was amazing. Through his pain he focused only on me. He held me while I cried, he told me he loved me, he asked what he could do to help. There was nothing he could do. I could see that he was worried about me. He had never seen me in that state before and I'm sure it was probably a shock given that I always pride myself on being so outwardly strong.

Possibly the hardest part of this harsh reality was that in our excitement about the baby we had "announced" my pregnancy on Facebook. Literally one of my first thoughts when I realized I was miscarrying was "this is why you don't tell people this early." I was ashamed, and now I had to publicly announce that I had lost this precious gift that I had been given.

I waited a day or two, and ignored the "congratulations" and well wishes that I received on my facebook page. Every notification was like a knife to my heart. Here were people who were genuinely happy for us, wanting to share in our joy, and it nearly killed me every time I'd read another one. Then after a few days, I posted the news.

I braced myself. I'm not sure what I was expecting... probably a few people offering their condolences, and maybe some more well meaning people trying to comfort me by saying things like "at least it was early enough that you didn't feel it move." (yes, people actually said things like that to me) What I received was more than I could have asked for. I got reassurance. In addition to the dozens of people who expressed their sorrow for us publicly, I also got private messages from several women. I won't name them here because they know who they are, but what they did was tell me that they understood. It had happened to them too. Some of them had been through one miscarriage, some had been through two or three or even more. Some of these women are friends of mine, and some are casual aquaintences. These women took their pain and used it to help me heal. What an incredible thing. I know it wasn't easy for them to relive those feelings, but they did. They reached out because they knew.

I like to find positive things in the midst of negativity. In addition to those amazing women who shared their experiences with me, I got a second chance. Just 5 weeks after I lost our baby, I found out that I was pregnant again and May 14th I gave birth to my second chance. I was terrified thoroughout most of my pregnancy. As any woman who has lost a baby knows, once you experience it, you're afraid that it will happen again. I have to look at my miscarriage as a stepping stone to my daughter, because without it, I wouldn't have her. God knew something about the first baby that I didn't, and I have to trust that He knew what was best for me. He doesn't make mistakes, and I have the proof...

The Ongoing Saga of Raising a Teenager.

I can remember when my son was about 4 or 5 and the dreaded question came out of his mouth: "Mommy, where do babies come from?" My stomach dropped at least 10 feet and I thought I might throw up. I recovered pretty quickly though and I replied "God sent you to me." He nodded his head and went back to playing with his Leggos and I immediately felt like I was the BEST parent in the world. I thought to myself, "this isn't so bad." I spoke too soon. He looked at me with those big blue eyes and innocently said "But I heard on TV that the daddy and mommy make the baby" I panicked for a minute and then said "Mommys and Daddys who love each other have babies, but God creates them" This was not flying, and I could clearly see that. I tried a different approach... "Mommy and Daddy loved each other so much that God gave us a baby, and I carried you in my tummy and when you were big enough, you were born. "Danger... Danger... I had gone too far. His eyes got very big and he said "I was in your tummy?" I nodded and he said "YOU ATE ME???"

When I look back on this conversation, I don't really remember how scary it was, I only feel amused. Remembering now, it's all very innocent and cute, and NOTHING compared to the conversations that I'm required to have with him now. Just last night at dinner we were chatting and I casually brought up smoking. He assures me he's never tried it, and that it smells disgusting and he won't ever do it, but I know better. He will more than likely try smoking, and drinking, and drugs. It's terrifying. He will also probably have sex long before he's emotionally ready for it, and years and years before he finds the woman that he will spend the rest of his life with. He will get pressured to try things that he's afraid of, and I can only hope that he makes the right choices and that I've raised him to know that his opinion of himself is much more important than what anyone else might think if he doesn't follow the crowd.

I have been very honest with him about the mistakes that I made when I was younger. He knows the struggles that I had by having him so young. I love him and I wouldn't trade him for anything in the world, but if I could have hit a pause button and just waited a few years, things would have been better for both of us. I can only hope that by being open and honest with him about my experiences, he will make better choices for himself.

Raising a teenager is a lot like white water rafting. It's fun and scary all at the same time, and you just hold on for dear life and hope everyone makes it to the end.

Perfection

I'm not perfect. In fact, I'm so far from perfect that I can't even see what it looks like from here. So why is it that when I have a certain standard that I require myself to adhere to, I get told that I think I'm "so perfect." News flash, there is a big difference between WANTING things to be perfect and actually BEING perfect. I have a ton of flaws. Among the biggest of my flaws are that I am sometimes bossy and impatient. I can also be very stubborn. Another flaw that I have is that I'm overly sensitive sometimes, and that is the one that I struggle with the most.

I recently saw the following sentence on a friends FB status and it really spoke to me: "...if a person feels judged it is often the still voice inside that accuses them, but it is easier to blame another than deal with the depravity within." It's true. When my feelings get hurt because someone has accused me of something, it's usually because I know they're right. (When I know they're wrong I react usually with an eye roll and a laugh or sometimes I get mad depending on the seriousness of the accusation) It goes both ways. I can see that when I get told I think I'm perfect, it's because that person feels inadequate, not because they really think that I'm perfect. I have learned lately that there are some people that you will never be able to count on. There are some people that will always choose the "fun" over a chore, even when the chore helps someone. I can't take it personally. I have to resolve myself to remembering that just like I have flaws that I battle daily, so do others, and I can't let theirs affect me in a negative way.

Brothers and Sisters

My son has a very mixed family. Mixed? No, that's not really the right word. Blended? That doesn't really sound right either. Complicated... perhaps. Let me explain...

I had my son at the very young and naive age of 18 and his father was not far ahead at 19. Although we were "together" when Nathan was born, we parted ways when he was 9 months old. His father went on to have two more children with another woman, and thus, Nathan has two sisters. Even though his father and I didn't separate on good terms (that may be the understatement of the century), as soon as the first of his other two children was born I was sure of one thing: Nathan had a sister. There were certain people who made comments to Nathan that really upset me. He would say something about his sister and these people would "correct" him and say "she's not your sister, she's your half sister." It made my blood boil, and I never skipped an opportunity to correct THEM.

If you want to get technical about it, yes, they share a father but have different mothers, but I have spent the last 9+ years standing firm on the fact that his fathers children are his sisters. There is no "half" about it. Why was it so important for these people to point out that they didn't share the same two parents. He was only 4 when his first sister was born, but it wasn't as if Nathan was confused about who her mother was. He doesn't love her 50% as much as he would if they shared both parents. She isn't 50% less important. He doesn't spend 50% of his time pretending they aren't related.

Fast forward 9+ years. Just under two months ago, I gave birth to Nathans 3rd sister. (Poor thing... he prayed really hard for a brother LOL) They obviously have the same mother, but they have different fathers. One of those same people recently asked Nathan what he thought of his sister. SISTER... not half sister. I couldn't help but say (sarcastically) "don't you mean HALF sister." This person looked at me and said "no... Grace is his sister, I guess you were right about the "half" thing." My response: I know.

So like I was saying before... My son has a very confusing family. But I happen to think he's pretty lucky.