30 weeks

What the....

I am nearly 30 weeks pregnant, and every day I try to imagine what it will be like to have a new baby at home, and I just can't wrap my mind around it. Every single day I've just been trying to get through. Get through the day, the worry, the fear, the wonder of it all. How does it go so right, after going so wrong? I try to calm the children's fears about death, I try to join in their excitement, I try to enjoy where I'm at, and what my body is accomplishing every day. I'm finding solace at home now. Church has become hard again. I'm happy to keep to myself and not think about the abundance of pregnant women that live around me. I look at them while they are looking forward to their babies with a certainty that theirs will live. How do you relate to a woman like that, when you know that is not the truth. Some say "have faith". Faith to me is believing in the plan God has placed into motion. Faith to me is believing what ever is meant to come to pass, will. And what ever that is, somehow we'll be ok. Faith to me is not counting on getting what I want, that has not been the case so many times over in my life. I have faith that I can get through. And no matter what, this child I am growing is glorious and amazing and I cannot wait to meet him, hold him, clutch him to me, and thank my lucky stars that God chose me to be his mother. I try to imagine it, but somehow I know it will be something more than I could ever hope for or think of. (HUGE *sigh*)

Now on to different related drama. I had a weird experience come my way. A family member sent out a contact list that included my biological mother's phone number. I'm getting too old to end up in the fetal position when I receive news of her, but it's my brain's way of protecting me. I talk about her once in a great while, but really - - this is one of my life long hurts that I have not found a way to heal yet. She left me. She left my siblings. My father left us. He gave us away for a woman. They CHOSE, and that choice did not include me. My heart is so tender in that way. I keep those emotions shut up in a tiny little box. I like to think I have control over when I open and close it, but this family member blew the lid off. For now, I've stuffed that issue back in, currently growing the baby is all I can work on....

And to top it off, one of my siblings took this information, among other private conversations (I HUGELY suspect), to an Aunt I have been estranged from since before Isaac's birth and death. My Aunt, I felt like, was at least warming to the idea of communicating with me, has now BLOCKED my phone numbers again. The more I think about it, the more I feel secure in my decision to keep my biological family at arm's length. There is no trust, no relationship that is solid, outside of the relationship I have built with my grandparents. I feel spent, and I feel done. Plain old DONE. I have enough shit on my plate to deal with all the baggage that continues to accompany nearly all family relationships I have. Some things our Maker is just going to have to work out, because 30 years hasn't been long enough for me to conquer that challenge yet. Oh well, I guess, life keeps moving on......

Anyways, friends - - all my love, for now.

Until next time,

xoxo Misty

Happy Birthday Precious Boy.

My Sweet Boy,

This must be what heaven looks like. This must be what you live now, what your reality must be. You are a perfect soul, living in a perfect heavenly realm.

Happiest heavenly birthday sweet baby. How blessed we are to have been able to claim you for our family. We are so thankful God gave us you, even if only for a short time.

We know you live on, we feel your spirit in and around our family often. We know heaven exists. We know you are serving the Lord in a most valiant way. We wish you your happiest birthday yet, and know that we'll be celebrating you especially tomorrow.


Love,

Your Adoring Family

BOYS all around!

Hey Ya'll!

It's been quite a ride as of late. My pregnancy is sailing along, but the fear attached to this pregnancy is unreal. The bereavement team assigned to our family, months ago, told me my subsequent pregnancy after Isaac would be hell. It's not that there is no excitement and dreaming attached, but that there is an abnormal amount of fear attached as well. We all fear going through losing a newborn ONCE, the fear of doing it AGAIN is consuming. And not only that - - my husband worries, my kids worry. Everyone worries. We want this baby so badly, could be live through losing another? I envy women, and actually my own self - - pre being a mother to a dead child. Pregnancy was for the most part easy and worry free. Nothing bad could happen to me, right??

I have been spending a lot of time communicating with Heavenly Father. I surely cannot make these thoughts go away on my own, I need Him to help reassure me. I'm trying to think positive and focus on the GOOD. I'm enjoy feeling the baby bumble around, and although frightening, I am shopping at my heart's desire for this little one. It's the little things - - - I was able to buy baby shampoo and bubble bath for this baby. I was distraught when I knew Isaac would not need them. I'm able to price diapers and formula and look at outfits knowing I should not be burying this child. Shopping for Isaac's funeral was heart wrenching. I cannot describe the heartache. We've bought a pack n play and new stroller and car seat - - all those things we has for Isaac we got rid of. I'm trying to enjoy as much as I possibly can this time around, we never know what is around the corner. I promised myself this one time I would do what I wanted, shop how I wanted, prepare how I wanted - - if only I got one more chance. And I have that chance now. I need to make the most of it.

Our anatomy scan went well. I was very distressed going into it. It was at the same office, same room, with the same tech when I found out Isaac would die. This baby is perfectly healthy, and he's a BOY. Another baby boy for our family. Ian is so thrilled to be having another brother. It hurt him so badly to have a brother die. I would say he is the most excited! Ian reacted the most outwardly when Isaac died. He had nightmares before his birth, being fearful the baby would die before he could meet him. The crib in his room came down, because it caused him panic attacks. He acted out in school. He was so heart broken. He is my very most tender hearted child, and it was overwhelming to deliver good news to him. He and I both cried over that. What a blessing this sweet babe will be to our family, we are so thankful.

Anyways - 23 weeks along and counting.

Till next time,

Misty

Head 'em up, move 'em out.

After months of going back and forth between my more public blog and more private blog, I've decided I'm ready to end up back here, to share a little more openly again.

I've gone back and forth many times, trying to decide when I was ready to share, because I know (FULLY) that there are some people that read here, that I really don't like. Those are people who I have ended relationships with, for various reasons, and I have never liked the idea of them still reading about my life. But, you know how the internet is - - people getting up in your business, that I wouldn't even share a tissue with, but such is life. I'll find a way to get over it. You know who you are, anyway.

You may have guessed by now what I was going to share, so to avoid chickening out, I'll just type it: I'm PREGNANT! I'll be 18 weeks along on Monday, and I have been elated, and frightened, and worried, every single day since I found out in November. Just today, I was thinking about my 20 week appointment on March 14th, and I started to think about what I would do if they didn't find a heartbeat. I mean. I got one last time, but that excitement has since worn out, so what happens if something bad happens now??? It's a fine dance of being so excited at the idea of a newborn babe, with the slap of terror that I might not get my dream come true. The death of a newborn and miscarriages after.... they kind of ruin the idea of pregnancy bliss, ya know? Kind of puts a huge mote in between the ignorantly blissful and the horrifyingly bereaved. Make sense?

So, here's the thing. If you know me, and I have not spoken to you about being pregnant, I won't, not until it's on my terms. I'll deny deny deny until I'm brave enough to chit chat about it. So just pretend this still is a secret, and that way we can avoid awkward conversations, lets say, if I run into you at church........ fair warning, right??

And, just like my kids do - - pray my baby has all it's parts, and is born living. The kind of healthy that lets you bring the baby home, not the kind of dead that makes you bury them into the ground. So far, so good, though - - I'm trying to focus on that.


xoxo Misty

Mindless.

I took the children to church yesterday, and it went well, for the most part. I find myself often seated close by where a couple comes in late with a new baby boy, who is probably 8 weeks old. He's beautiful. And so immensely sweet. He reminds me of my own boys at that age. I wish I could scoop him up and cry over all that I lost with my Isaac, but instead I find myself squirming in my seat, and wishing I could run out of church. Because really, I know in my mind that is unacceptable behavior, but my heart just still cannot help it.

And then there was the second speaker yesterday. A young man in his mid thirties, he has 4 children, with one on the way. His wife has never miscarried or ever had a pregnancy or infant loss of any sort. I appreciated the spirit in which his message was delivered, but I would have liked to have argued my point. He started his talk off about prayer and faith. He talked about not being prideful, and he spoke about service. He ended his talk with a story about a woman with children, who was fleeing her native land. Through her journey, each and everyone of her children died. Each grave was dug with a spoon, which was all the woman had in her possession. Her last child that died, was a baby. The woman had lost her spoon, and had to dig her last baby's grave with her fingers, in the frozen ground. The story ended with the woman finding strength in Christ when she knew she had lost all that she had. God bore her up. I get the story, and the point. But the thing that bothered me was when the speaker said that no matter how large our trials are, there is always someone who has it worse. That someone suffers more, that it can get worse. But what comfort does that give to a grieving parent, who feels like it CANNOT get worse? That they truly have been pushed to the breaking point? That they feel like they gave the ultimate sacrifice, in accepting God's will for the deceased child? I have suffered many things. I suffered not having enough to eat as a child, we stole food to eat. We didn't have beds, or enough clothing. My mother turned tricks in Alaska when my father left us. We were not safe. We were molested. When my father had another chance to raise us, he bailed on us, giving us to his best friend, who turned out to be a child molester. My mother had another chance, too, she ran away in the middle of the night. We were adopted by parents who failed. By a man whose life was run by an abusive and dominant woman. She beat us up. They gave us no freedom. We had no toys, no tv, no phone, we could not have friends or play outside. We were told we were trash on a regular basis, and that she hated us. I have struggled my entire adult life to rise above the start I had in life. I have very few family relationships. I'm screwed up. I have been so fortunate to be married, but my husband also has a chronic disease. WE KNOW SUFFERING. For us, it really can't get much worse. We'd have to lose a grown child, or Andrew and I would have to lose each other. So while other people HAVE worse trials, and we have so MUCH to be thankful for, I've had a shitload of trials to get through during my life time, too. Preaching to someone that it can get worse. NO SHIT. I fear that the most, when I have already suffered more than most people understand.

And the thing that made me the saddest? When we were leaving my son turned to me and said: "Mama, who tells stories like that in front of a family that has a dead brother?? It made me really sad." And I told him, while trying NOT to cry, that the man really didn't understand. That if he knew it would hurt us, he would not have told the story. And that's really the truth of the matter. People don't know what it's like. They don't know what it's like to have a body go limp in your arms, and feel the chilling sting of a dead body. They don't understand the trauma and the places your mind goes to. They didn't know while telling that story that my children and I were thrown back to that moment when we lived that, too.

I wish people weren't so mindless, or perhaps even had just a little bit bigger of a heart.

One Sunday down, so many more to go.

Crass.

Well, Friends, I was able to drag my butt back to church yesterday. And it went ok. There were a lot of friendly faces, and then there were a lot of faces I would have loved to have NOT seen. There were your normal crass jokes and comments about pregnancy - - people who take it for granted think it's funny to make poor tasting jokes. And then the gossip. The who is pregnant and who is not. The gossip about who is making it clear they are not happy to be pregnant, which, to me, is a total insult to my sensitivities, not to mention mocking the God given blessing and opportunity to grow a baby and your family. (good run on sentence right there) Parenting is hard - pretty much. Young children are hard - pretty much. Life is hard - pretty much. I find it so offensive to listen to people bitch about motherhood and pregnancy. I find all it demonstrates is selfishness and taking your life and family for granted. I bet if one of those women had a dead baby or a deformed baby, they might think twice about it. And I really feel badly for the MANY women who have lost pregnancies, or babies, or can't even conceive in the first place. They sit there, church meeting after church meeting, and have to listen to that crap. It drives me nearly mad. I find that church caters to the blissful side of believing in a God and Savior. The focus is on miracles and answered prayer. There is not a lot of support for those who are struggling, for those that need baring up. There's a whole lot of social jibber jabber going on, and not a lot of paying attention to the true message of the gospel. You know, the part where we're supposed to learn to live more like Jesus. Whatever. People just don't get it. They know not what they do.

The children really enjoyed their primary classes (Sunday school). Olivia did really well, although was frustrated she did not know many of the songs the kids were singing. Hannah had a lot of school friends in her class - - she sure is growing into such a young lady. And Ian liked his class, although he seems a little more shy about it. The kids came home with good attitudes, and I feel accomplished that I did this HARD thing! And we'll go back next Sunday, and hopefully again and again. I think I can do this. I know I can, thick skin forming along the way.

My week is the normal busy busy. Work, clean, cook, parent - - rinse, repeat. Over and over again. I may have lost a baby, but all the dreams I had as a child for my life have come true. To be a mother. To be married to a good man. To have my own home. To have freedom and peace in my life. Praise God for those blessings, I am truly grateful.

For now we keep on living. Living with most of my family with me, and part of my family missing. My children are loved, and Isaac is loved and remembered. I am, at the very least, thankful to know where he is.


Until next time.

Misty