Showing posts with label Pregnancy after Loss. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Pregnancy after Loss. Show all posts
Sunday, June 28, 2015
FMF: Dream
Dreams.
Dreams can mean things we see while we are sleeping. I have strange dreams while pregnant, like the one where my husband turned into a giraffe...
Dreams can mean things we wish for or hope for. Right now my dream is to hold a living, breathing, squirming, screaming baby in my arms and actually get to bring her home.
Dreams can turn into nightmares. I've lived through two of that kind. Twice I have dreamed of bringing home a new baby and ended up with empty arms and two holes in my heart.
I find in these last few weeks of pregnancy that the fear is beginning to creep up again. I do not want this beautiful dream to change into a fearsome nightmare yet again. I find myself over-analyzing every tiny symptom, questioning whether or not I should go in to Labor and Delivery for each little thing.
I am having to remind myself several times daily that I need to choose FAITH over FEAR. I need to hold on to the beautiful dream, and take the nightmare I fear to the Lord in prayer and leave it at His feet. I need to repeat Philippians 4:6 to myself again and again: Do NOT be anxious about ANYthing, but in EVERYthing by prayer and petition, with THANKSgiving, present your requests to God.
Friday, June 5, 2015
FMF: The Gift of Discomfort
Joining Kate for a 5-minute free write called Five Minute Friday. This week's prompt: Gift.
GO:
Life truly is a gift. And after experiencing loss, the preciousness of the gift shines through even brighter.
I am currently 32 weeks pregnant with my rainbow baby, whom I have nicknamed Chickadee.
32 weeks pregnant is not all pleasant.
I am getting more and more tired, yet finding it hard to get comfortable enough to sleep.
My emotions are all over the place.
Everything I eat gives me heartburn.
I wake up a million times a night to pee.
My hips are starting to ache, and by the end of the day my feet and ankles are swollen and sore.
And all of this is a beautiful gift!
I love the blessing of each and every discomfort and pain and difficulty because each one is due to the precious little gift that is growing in my womb. I will gladly take every one of these and more knowing that each day Chickadee is making Mommy uncomfortable is another day she is here on earth with me, growing and getting bigger and stronger and closer to being a squirmy little screaming bundle of joy in my arms.
I thank and praise my gracious loving Father for the beautiful gift of third trimester discomforts!
STOP
GO:
Life truly is a gift. And after experiencing loss, the preciousness of the gift shines through even brighter.
I am currently 32 weeks pregnant with my rainbow baby, whom I have nicknamed Chickadee.
32 weeks pregnant is not all pleasant.
I am getting more and more tired, yet finding it hard to get comfortable enough to sleep.
My emotions are all over the place.
Everything I eat gives me heartburn.
I wake up a million times a night to pee.
My hips are starting to ache, and by the end of the day my feet and ankles are swollen and sore.
And all of this is a beautiful gift!
I love the blessing of each and every discomfort and pain and difficulty because each one is due to the precious little gift that is growing in my womb. I will gladly take every one of these and more knowing that each day Chickadee is making Mommy uncomfortable is another day she is here on earth with me, growing and getting bigger and stronger and closer to being a squirmy little screaming bundle of joy in my arms.
I thank and praise my gracious loving Father for the beautiful gift of third trimester discomforts!
STOP
Monday, March 30, 2015
The Mingling of Hope and Grief
Yesterday was Palm Sunday.
Last year on Palm Sunday I was in the hospital recovering from labor. I spent most of the day either in numb shock, or curled in a ball bawling my eyes out wishing I had died too.
This year I was at church, and only cried twice; when we sang songs about Jesus overcoming death.
Jesus overcame death. Mikayla's death has been conquered, destroyed, overthrown. She is alive and well. Selah, too. Not alive in my arms, but alive nonetheless.
Right now I am 22 weeks pregnant. I am a handful of days past the point where Mikayla left my womb for heaven. Mikayla's 1st heaven day is coming soon, and this Easter season will probably forever bring with it reminders of my sweet girl gone too soon. It's been an emotional week, and will probably continue to be an emotional time until I make it past April 13th.
And yet, the emotions are not all bad. The cup is not only full of grief. There is a sweetness to it as well. A sweetness that my babies are enjoying the wonder of heaven. A sweetness that this new little girl is wriggling around inside of me healthy and strong. A sweetness in knowing that nothing can ever separate us from the love of God. A sweet hope that all things are indeed working together for good.
So despite the triggers of grief that rip the scabs off my healing heart and cause the sorrow to flow once more, I grasp hold of the glorious promise that God is the healer, the giver and keeper of life, and I cry "Hosannah! Hosannah! Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord!" and the prayers flow out of my lips as the tears flow down my cheeks and the hands are lifted high in praise to the God who knows the pain of watching your child die, and the God who brings life out of death.
Last year on Palm Sunday I was in the hospital recovering from labor. I spent most of the day either in numb shock, or curled in a ball bawling my eyes out wishing I had died too.
This year I was at church, and only cried twice; when we sang songs about Jesus overcoming death.
Jesus overcame death. Mikayla's death has been conquered, destroyed, overthrown. She is alive and well. Selah, too. Not alive in my arms, but alive nonetheless.
Right now I am 22 weeks pregnant. I am a handful of days past the point where Mikayla left my womb for heaven. Mikayla's 1st heaven day is coming soon, and this Easter season will probably forever bring with it reminders of my sweet girl gone too soon. It's been an emotional week, and will probably continue to be an emotional time until I make it past April 13th.
And yet, the emotions are not all bad. The cup is not only full of grief. There is a sweetness to it as well. A sweetness that my babies are enjoying the wonder of heaven. A sweetness that this new little girl is wriggling around inside of me healthy and strong. A sweetness in knowing that nothing can ever separate us from the love of God. A sweet hope that all things are indeed working together for good.
So despite the triggers of grief that rip the scabs off my healing heart and cause the sorrow to flow once more, I grasp hold of the glorious promise that God is the healer, the giver and keeper of life, and I cry "Hosannah! Hosannah! Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord!" and the prayers flow out of my lips as the tears flow down my cheeks and the hands are lifted high in praise to the God who knows the pain of watching your child die, and the God who brings life out of death.
Sunday, February 15, 2015
Making Room for Joy
Since Mikayla died and was born, I can count on one hand the moments I have felt truly happy without a cloud of fear or anxiety or sadness clouding the moment.
Today, I was given one of those moments.
I was putting June Bug to bed with our nightly routine: shower, pjs, brush teeth, drink of water, bedtime story, prayers, hugs and kisses, and lights out. We were snuggled on the bed together and I was reading a chapter of Betsy-Tacy - a book I enjoyed as a child - on our tablet. I was holding the tablet resting its end on my lower belly, when I felt it. Baby was kicking! Baby was kicking at the tablet!
Now I have felt things that I thought might have been baby earlier on, and the other day I felt a few distinct flutters that I knew had to be baby, but this was different - vibrant, strong movements without a shadow of a doubt caused by little arms and legs exploring this thing that was pressed up against their home. I told June Bug about it, and we both enjoyed some giggles at the thought.
It was only later, when I had finished the chapter, said our prayers, and turned off the light that I realized how pure a moment of joy it had been. I was also able to remember feeling Mikayla kick at June Bug's musical teddy bear without the overwhelming feeling of acute grief, but rather a fond memory with just a hint of sadness.
I know there will still be days of weeping and pain. I know it will still be a long journey, but I do feel like I have turned a corner somehow. Like I have crawled far enough down the tunnel that I can actually see a glimpse of the brilliant light waiting for me up ahead.
I am learning to make room for joy again. And it feels good.
Today, I was given one of those moments.
I was putting June Bug to bed with our nightly routine: shower, pjs, brush teeth, drink of water, bedtime story, prayers, hugs and kisses, and lights out. We were snuggled on the bed together and I was reading a chapter of Betsy-Tacy - a book I enjoyed as a child - on our tablet. I was holding the tablet resting its end on my lower belly, when I felt it. Baby was kicking! Baby was kicking at the tablet!
Now I have felt things that I thought might have been baby earlier on, and the other day I felt a few distinct flutters that I knew had to be baby, but this was different - vibrant, strong movements without a shadow of a doubt caused by little arms and legs exploring this thing that was pressed up against their home. I told June Bug about it, and we both enjoyed some giggles at the thought.
It was only later, when I had finished the chapter, said our prayers, and turned off the light that I realized how pure a moment of joy it had been. I was also able to remember feeling Mikayla kick at June Bug's musical teddy bear without the overwhelming feeling of acute grief, but rather a fond memory with just a hint of sadness.
I know there will still be days of weeping and pain. I know it will still be a long journey, but I do feel like I have turned a corner somehow. Like I have crawled far enough down the tunnel that I can actually see a glimpse of the brilliant light waiting for me up ahead.
I am learning to make room for joy again. And it feels good.
Thursday, January 29, 2015
FMF: Waiting in Faith
Joining in for a 5 minute Friday free-write with Kate and the gang
Prompt of the week: WAIT
GO:
I can't wait!
I can't wait until I can feel this tiny baby moving and kicking and reassuring Mama that all is well.
I can't wait until this awkward little bump grows big enough that I look pregnant and not just bloated or fat.
I can't wait to find out if June Bug, Mikayla, and Selah are getting a baby brother, or another sister.
I can't wait to be waddling around big and pregnant, complaining about back aches and cankles.
I can't wait to have a baby shower and wash all the tiny precious onesies and sleepers and itty-bitty mittens and socks.
Most of all I can't wait until a doctor places a screaming bundle of life into my arms and gives congratulations instead of condolences.
In the meantime: faith, not fear. FAITH, not fear. That is my mantra for 2015, and I repeat it to myself every time the enemy creeps in and whispers that maybe I can't trust God because after all, didn't He let me down before?
In the waiting place, FAITH, not fear.
STOP
Prompt of the week: WAIT
GO:
I can't wait!
I can't wait until I can feel this tiny baby moving and kicking and reassuring Mama that all is well.
I can't wait until this awkward little bump grows big enough that I look pregnant and not just bloated or fat.
I can't wait to find out if June Bug, Mikayla, and Selah are getting a baby brother, or another sister.
I can't wait to be waddling around big and pregnant, complaining about back aches and cankles.
I can't wait to have a baby shower and wash all the tiny precious onesies and sleepers and itty-bitty mittens and socks.
Most of all I can't wait until a doctor places a screaming bundle of life into my arms and gives congratulations instead of condolences.
In the meantime: faith, not fear. FAITH, not fear. That is my mantra for 2015, and I repeat it to myself every time the enemy creeps in and whispers that maybe I can't trust God because after all, didn't He let me down before?
In the waiting place, FAITH, not fear.
STOP
Sunday, January 25, 2015
My Letter to Grief
I got the idea for writing a letter to grief from Kate Motaung, who encouraged readers to write their own letters. I began this letter several weeks ago, but it got to be too raw, and I had to back away for a bit, but I came back today feeling ready to tackle it. So here goes.
Dear Grief,
Over the past nine months I have tried holding you at arms length. I have tried bringing you in for a snuggle session. I have tried ignoring you and trying to pretend you were never there. I have gotten angry at you. I have coddled you like a newborn kitten and fed you until you became a tiger who nearly turned to devour me. I have researched you. I have tried to plumb your depths. I have ridden out your waves, even when I nearly drowned. You could not take me under.
Grief, you came into my life that early morning in the Emergency Room of the local hospital when I stared at the screen of the ultrasound machine, eyes searching for my wiggly baby and only finding a still stone instead. Strange that there should be a stone there. Where was my baby? Was she hiding? There must be some mistake. And then when I should have been hearing the delightful wild-stallion cantering clip-clop of her precious heartbeat, there was only silence. And I knew. I knew she was gone, and you crept in and made yourself known. An unwelcome guest in a place that should have been filled with hope and reassurance. You showed your ugly head that morning.
You weren't through with me yet. In fact, you were only getting started. You embraced me as I was caught in the throes of contractions which should usher forth life, but instead were only bringing forth death. You held me as my precious daughter slipped into this world silent and still, when the only cries were that of a mother whose heart was ripped in two.
You were gracious to me those first few weeks. You let me ignore you for a bit; hold you away from me. But slowly, slowly, bit by bit you wormed your way in. You twisted into my heart and left it open and raw and bleeding. Scabs have formed now, but every so often you like to come and rip the scabs off as well, bringing up all the pain all over again.
You've been a constant shadow to me these nine months, sometimes almost disappearing for brief times when the joyful sun shines so brightly straight ahead that I can ignore you for a while. At other times you stretch large and spooky and make me want to hide under the covers like a frightened child. Especially now, that new life is growing in my womb. Now I am scared of you more than ever. I know your full power, and I don't want you coming close again. And yet I am powerless to stop you.
But I don't have to. I can live with you. I can let you come and go, ebb and flow, because I know that there is one in me who is greater than you or anything else in the world. He beat death. And because He beat death, He will one day banish you, grief, forevermore.
So I can close my eyes tonight, snuggle with my pillow, and sleep in peace knowing that though you can be so all-encompassing some days, you are merely a constant companion until the day I see Jesus and He strips you off of me and clothes me instead in pure joy.
Until then,
A Grieving Mama choosing to live by FAITH, not fear
Dear Grief,
Over the past nine months I have tried holding you at arms length. I have tried bringing you in for a snuggle session. I have tried ignoring you and trying to pretend you were never there. I have gotten angry at you. I have coddled you like a newborn kitten and fed you until you became a tiger who nearly turned to devour me. I have researched you. I have tried to plumb your depths. I have ridden out your waves, even when I nearly drowned. You could not take me under.
Grief, you came into my life that early morning in the Emergency Room of the local hospital when I stared at the screen of the ultrasound machine, eyes searching for my wiggly baby and only finding a still stone instead. Strange that there should be a stone there. Where was my baby? Was she hiding? There must be some mistake. And then when I should have been hearing the delightful wild-stallion cantering clip-clop of her precious heartbeat, there was only silence. And I knew. I knew she was gone, and you crept in and made yourself known. An unwelcome guest in a place that should have been filled with hope and reassurance. You showed your ugly head that morning.
You weren't through with me yet. In fact, you were only getting started. You embraced me as I was caught in the throes of contractions which should usher forth life, but instead were only bringing forth death. You held me as my precious daughter slipped into this world silent and still, when the only cries were that of a mother whose heart was ripped in two.
You were gracious to me those first few weeks. You let me ignore you for a bit; hold you away from me. But slowly, slowly, bit by bit you wormed your way in. You twisted into my heart and left it open and raw and bleeding. Scabs have formed now, but every so often you like to come and rip the scabs off as well, bringing up all the pain all over again.
You've been a constant shadow to me these nine months, sometimes almost disappearing for brief times when the joyful sun shines so brightly straight ahead that I can ignore you for a while. At other times you stretch large and spooky and make me want to hide under the covers like a frightened child. Especially now, that new life is growing in my womb. Now I am scared of you more than ever. I know your full power, and I don't want you coming close again. And yet I am powerless to stop you.
But I don't have to. I can live with you. I can let you come and go, ebb and flow, because I know that there is one in me who is greater than you or anything else in the world. He beat death. And because He beat death, He will one day banish you, grief, forevermore.
So I can close my eyes tonight, snuggle with my pillow, and sleep in peace knowing that though you can be so all-encompassing some days, you are merely a constant companion until the day I see Jesus and He strips you off of me and clothes me instead in pure joy.
Until then,
A Grieving Mama choosing to live by FAITH, not fear
Thursday, November 27, 2014
A Bittersweet Thanksgiving
I can't help but think how if things had gone differently, I could be introducing my 3-month-old baby to my grandmother, aunts, uncles, and cousins today as we gathered around the table to give thanks.
I can't help but think if things had gone differently, I could have been finding out Selah's gender, and have a tummy gently swelling with a baby inside, instead of just bloated from too much turkey.
And yet, I do have a lot to be thankful for.
I am thankful that I have a beautiful healthy 5-year-old who is reading up a storm and singing praise songs that she makes up and prancing around the living room in her princess tiara and twirly skirt.
I am thankful that though it has been a rocky road, and the bumps are still not all smoothed out, my marriage is still intact.
I am thankful that God used my tragedy to get me out of a toxic work environment (which I was reminded again this week just how toxic it really was) and into a job that is full of love, grace, and mercy, with coworkers and bosses who come along-side and encourage and lift up instead of tearing down and pointing fingers and talking behind backs.
I am thankful for a new doctor who is ready to do anything it takes to help us bring a baby home.
I am thankful for two pink lines that showed up on a pregnancy test early this morning, and the opportunity to be Mommy to another precious little soul.
I was reading Psalm 139 this morning, and thinking about the fact that God knew each day that Mikayla and Selah would be in my womb. He knows exactly how many days June Bug will walk this earth, He knows how many days I have left until I see my babies in heaven. And He knows already how many days I will be blessed to hold this new little life. He is knitting this baby together in my womb, and that is a wonderful privilege to be a part of another miracle.
When I lit my candles in October, I lit an extra one for hope. This pregnancy brings me hope, but my hope is not in this pregnancy. My hope is in the God who created and sustains it. My hope is in the Savior who loves me. My hope is that God would be glorified through my life, and through the lives of all my children, however many days each of us may have on this earth.
I can't help but think if things had gone differently, I could have been finding out Selah's gender, and have a tummy gently swelling with a baby inside, instead of just bloated from too much turkey.
And yet, I do have a lot to be thankful for.
I am thankful that I have a beautiful healthy 5-year-old who is reading up a storm and singing praise songs that she makes up and prancing around the living room in her princess tiara and twirly skirt.
I am thankful that though it has been a rocky road, and the bumps are still not all smoothed out, my marriage is still intact.
I am thankful that God used my tragedy to get me out of a toxic work environment (which I was reminded again this week just how toxic it really was) and into a job that is full of love, grace, and mercy, with coworkers and bosses who come along-side and encourage and lift up instead of tearing down and pointing fingers and talking behind backs.
I am thankful for a new doctor who is ready to do anything it takes to help us bring a baby home.
I am thankful for two pink lines that showed up on a pregnancy test early this morning, and the opportunity to be Mommy to another precious little soul.
I was reading Psalm 139 this morning, and thinking about the fact that God knew each day that Mikayla and Selah would be in my womb. He knows exactly how many days June Bug will walk this earth, He knows how many days I have left until I see my babies in heaven. And He knows already how many days I will be blessed to hold this new little life. He is knitting this baby together in my womb, and that is a wonderful privilege to be a part of another miracle.
When I lit my candles in October, I lit an extra one for hope. This pregnancy brings me hope, but my hope is not in this pregnancy. My hope is in the God who created and sustains it. My hope is in the Savior who loves me. My hope is that God would be glorified through my life, and through the lives of all my children, however many days each of us may have on this earth.
Monday, September 8, 2014
Welcome to the Roller Coaster!
Well, I don't know where to start so I'll just come out and say it: We're expecting! June-Bug and Mikayla will (Lord Willing) be big sisters in May!
The emotions are all. over. the. place. One minute I am elated and so excited I could burst, and the next I am weeping and fearful and over-analyzing every little twinge.
I have decided that the only way to hang on is to take it day by day. Each morning, I am going to wake up and thank God for another day to carry this precious child. If one morning happens to be my last and this rainbow dissolves in more storm clouds, then so be it. I know where my shelter lies, and He is strong enough to see me through any storm that may come my way.
Either way, this baby will get to live; either with me and his/her father and big sister June Bug; or with Jesus and his/her Heavenly father, and big sister Mikayla.
God is good all the time! All the time, God is good!
The emotions are all. over. the. place. One minute I am elated and so excited I could burst, and the next I am weeping and fearful and over-analyzing every little twinge.
I have decided that the only way to hang on is to take it day by day. Each morning, I am going to wake up and thank God for another day to carry this precious child. If one morning happens to be my last and this rainbow dissolves in more storm clouds, then so be it. I know where my shelter lies, and He is strong enough to see me through any storm that may come my way.
Either way, this baby will get to live; either with me and his/her father and big sister June Bug; or with Jesus and his/her Heavenly father, and big sister Mikayla.
God is good all the time! All the time, God is good!
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