"The scars you share become lighthouses for other people who are headed to the same rocks you hit."
There are always worst case scenarios that you hear throughout your life, but what happens when you become one? What happens when suddenly you're a statistic to the ultimate worst case scenario-child loss?
For years I'd hear stories through the grapevine; complications, a devastated mother, an empty nursery, baby furniture that was never used. My heart would ache for them, and selfishly I'd worry about my own future pregnancies. However, not experiencing it first-hand at the time, I never heard what happened after those mom's left the hospital, after they returned home, after they were expected to continue on with their lives.
Then there I was. I was that mom. I was the mother faced with the unimaginable-I was losing my baby. I had arrived at my prenatal appointment expecting good news. For weeks I had been battling a subchorionic hemorrhage, and it had finally subsided. Rather than hearing that all was OK and that I should go home and continue to rest-the ultrasound didn't look right. The ultrasound tech looked concerned. She left the room to get the doctor and when I saw the look on his face, I knew it was bad. He held my hand as said, "I am so sorry. You are out of amniotic fluid and it is too early. Your baby's lungs are far too underdeveloped to survive outside of the womb and the hematoma surrounding your uterus is just too big. There is a risk of you having a massive hemorrhage if we don't induce you."
The days to come were a blur. I took the weekend to collect my thoughts and make decisions, to discuss options with my husband and our families, and to pray for a miracle. Monday morning I made the difficult walk in to the hospital to face my worst nightmare. I started induction and labored for 43 hours, internally struggling with wanting Maggie to be here, but the ache of not wanting to let her go. The moments leading up to me pushing, her silent delivery, the fear of seeing her precious face and knowing she couldn't stay here on earth. "She was just too beautiful for earth." The faces-of my husband, my parents, my family, my friends-full of pain. A time that should have been a celebration was robbed from all of us. That moment, the moment I had to kiss her goodbye. I had to hand my beautiful gift back to the nurse and watch her be carried out of the room-forever. More silence. So much silence. The sun rose the next morning and soon it was time for me to be escorted through a "secret exit" so I could avoid the happy endings in Labor and Delivery at the hospital. I carried a box full of memories instead of my daughter. This was the most painful walk of my life.
How would I tell my boys their sister didn't make it? For months they had been celebrating. Each morning my youngest would talk to her through my belly and ask her when she was going to come out and play with him. My oldest would ask me questions, "Will she look like me?" "What's it like having a little sister?" As if it wasn't hard enough for me to wrap my head around this tragedy, how could I explain this to her innocent brothers.
I began my search-for books, blogs, articles, quotes. I needed something. I needed advice. I needed mantras. I needed to know that I would survive this. Up to this point, I had never known true heartache. Those worst case scenarios I had heard over the years? I was all wrong. They were much more painful than my naive and innocent mind had ever imagined and I felt so alone in my agony.
If you ask me to describe the early days after Maggie's passing, it's like there is a dark fog surrounding my memories. Everything hurt, everything was dark, there were so many tears. It felt as though someone had knocked the wind out of me and I couldn't catch my breath or try to move on. I was changed. My life is now broken in two parts-before Maggie and after Maggie.
Two months passed. I didn't leave the house too much and had minimal desire to socialize. That's when it happened. A friend reached out because her sister was facing the unimaginable. Her daughter had passed at 41 weeks and she had to deliver her beautiful girl in that same haunting silence that Maggie was born into. She wanted advice and needed my help. I was still so early on in my lifelong journey with grief, but knew that she needed me, because I needed someone when I went through it. This was the first mom that I connected with that lost their baby after me. I reached out and we talked and for the first time I felt like I had connected with somebody. She was so new in her grief and facing all of the same firsts I was. We instantly bonded over our girls. Looking back now, this was my first stepping stone in my "new normal" life.
Over the next 6 months I connected with two other angel moms. We began talking regularly and finally planned a night to all get together. It had been nine months since I had said goodbye to Maggie. I was still in a very dark place. What you don't know unless you've experienced something as awful as this is the guilt you feel. Guilt that you did something to cause the loss, guilt that you didn't do enough while you held them, guilt that you aren't honoring them enough in your life, guilt if you go out of your home, and guilt if you catch yourself laughing or having a good time. I struggled with this a lot last year. But then it happened. As the three angel moms and I sat in my living room, we laughed. We had somehow made a joke and all of us started laughing-and laughed hard. It was such a release. I couldn't remember the last time that I had laughed and felt so carefree. I looked around at those brave women sitting around me and we were all laughing-and it was OK. It was OK. Maggie would want me to laugh. She wouldn't want me stuck in that stand still.
These girls taught me the importance of making connections when you suffer a loss as extreme as this. Losing a child is the most unthinkable pain, and it leaves you feeling so isolated. I remember thinking that I would never find life beautiful again. I believed I'd be stuck in the trenches for the remainder of my life-and I will-but when you have people beside you, fighting the same battles, it makes you stronger. Since then, I have continued to make connections. I am open with my loss. I want people to know it's OK to reach out to me to talk, to get advice, to help. By helping others, I'm helping myself. I'm growing and I'm gaining strength. I encourage other moms to do the same.
Maggie is the reason I have met some of the most amazing women in my life. These women support each other, validate our grief and our rituals, vent, talk about our babies openly and freely without any hesitation, and, as an amazing mentor of mine once said, "walk the same path but may just have a slightly different view." Once you know you aren't alone, your life can start to move forward-and don't worry-it does not mean you are leaving your child behind. Your child will continue to grow in memory with the love and support of those walking with you.
As Ernest Hemingway once said, "We are all broken. That's how the light gets in."
Sunday, September 25, 2016
Wednesday, July 20, 2016
The Little Girl in the Watermelon Bathing Suit
While sitting on the beach with a few friends, a little girl in a watermelon bathing suit caught my eye. She was dancing around the beach, completely carefree. Her bright, blonde hair was blowing in the breeze. I could see her smile in the distance. At first I laughed along with my friends, (we all thought she was super cute), but I stopped. A feeling overcame me. It's been a while since a child has reminded me of her, but sometimes it happens. It's part of this little journey I'm on. My mind wandered...
Maggie.
It's hard to explain how I picture Maggie now. I remember her. I look at her pictures often. I can still feel her hand in mine and the way her soft skin felt on my lips when I kissed her tiny forehead. Over the past year and a half she's taken on many images in my mind. Sometimes she's that precious baby I held on that fateful day in January of 2015, or that beautiful red cardinal that I've held in my dreams. Sometimes I picture a little cherub sitting on a cloud-similar to what you'd see in a movie or a cartoon. I have visions of Maggie painting those breathtaking sunsets, or skipping through the snow- creating a glistening path behind her. Maybe she's that tiny baby in Ma's arms, with my grandmothers and Auntie Mary patiently waiting for their turn to hold her.
On this warm day in July, she was the little girl in the watermelon bathing suit.
Would she have had the same bleach blonde hair? I know her eyelashes were practically white. Blonde hair does run in Andy's family. She most certainly would have had the same pot belly like her brothers. I know for sure she would have had a song in her soul-similar to the ones the boys have. It's the song that puts a skip in their step and a rhythm to everything they do. Without a doubt she would have had a smile on her face at all times-she was my daughter after all. Her giggles would have been contagious too-I just know it. To top it off, I have a strong weakness for fruit themed clothes, (ask Aileen), so I know my little 1.5 year old would have rocked that watermelon bathing suit.
I met eyes with her mom. She caught me smiling. I'm sure she's used to it. Her daughter was absolutely adorable. I'm sure before she noticed me admiring her, she was telling her to stay close and not to wander to far. Maybe to relax and sit down, so she could in turn get some rest herself. I hope that my smile was a quick reminder to her-to admire the beauty that is her little girl and to just let her "be" for a bit.
It was also a reminder to me that although Maggie is somehow frozen in time to so many, she will continue to grow with me-whether it may be visions of what she would look like now, who she would be, or just the beauty of nature promising me that someday-I will hold my little girl again.
Maggie.
It's hard to explain how I picture Maggie now. I remember her. I look at her pictures often. I can still feel her hand in mine and the way her soft skin felt on my lips when I kissed her tiny forehead. Over the past year and a half she's taken on many images in my mind. Sometimes she's that precious baby I held on that fateful day in January of 2015, or that beautiful red cardinal that I've held in my dreams. Sometimes I picture a little cherub sitting on a cloud-similar to what you'd see in a movie or a cartoon. I have visions of Maggie painting those breathtaking sunsets, or skipping through the snow- creating a glistening path behind her. Maybe she's that tiny baby in Ma's arms, with my grandmothers and Auntie Mary patiently waiting for their turn to hold her.
On this warm day in July, she was the little girl in the watermelon bathing suit.
Would she have had the same bleach blonde hair? I know her eyelashes were practically white. Blonde hair does run in Andy's family. She most certainly would have had the same pot belly like her brothers. I know for sure she would have had a song in her soul-similar to the ones the boys have. It's the song that puts a skip in their step and a rhythm to everything they do. Without a doubt she would have had a smile on her face at all times-she was my daughter after all. Her giggles would have been contagious too-I just know it. To top it off, I have a strong weakness for fruit themed clothes, (ask Aileen), so I know my little 1.5 year old would have rocked that watermelon bathing suit.
I met eyes with her mom. She caught me smiling. I'm sure she's used to it. Her daughter was absolutely adorable. I'm sure before she noticed me admiring her, she was telling her to stay close and not to wander to far. Maybe to relax and sit down, so she could in turn get some rest herself. I hope that my smile was a quick reminder to her-to admire the beauty that is her little girl and to just let her "be" for a bit.
It was also a reminder to me that although Maggie is somehow frozen in time to so many, she will continue to grow with me-whether it may be visions of what she would look like now, who she would be, or just the beauty of nature promising me that someday-I will hold my little girl again.
Friday, June 17, 2016
"She knew she loved him when 'home' went from being a place to being a person"-E. Leventhal
Typically I blog about the kids, but with Father's Day being this weekend, I wanted to put together some thoughts I've been having lately about my husband-the father of my children-because sometimes in life you get really lucky with something, and for me it's who I married.
Life has come pretty far since my earliest memories of you in your sweatpants and basketball jersey's back in junior high, the school dances where somehow our eyes would always meet, or from that first day of school junior year when I wheeled into the high school hallways in my wheelchair and neck brace and you ran over to tell me how beautiful my smile was. I knew then you were different, but never knew how much of my life you'd become. All of these small details led us to where we are now.
It seems like we are lifetimes away from that night we IM'd each other and made a pact to get married 30 if not married already, or that first night that you came to UMASS and maybe I had a little too much "box-o-wine" and got myself sick. The night that you didn't run away, but instead popped The Wizard of Oz into the VCR player and watched it with me-never making a move because you knew I wasn't in a clear state of mind. Yet it feels like yesterday I was wearing your Silver Lake baseball sweatshirt to classes where I'd daydream about someday marrying you.
It felt like a fairytale that night you held my hand as we walked around Boston Common. I knew you were acting a little nervous that night-and it all made sense when you got down on one knee and asked if you could be the one to make all of my dreams come true. Over 10 years later and I can tell you that you already had. The time that passed from when you asked for my hand in marriage until that moment I was walking down the aisle-with my eyes locked on yours-was a whirlwind of fun. We'd share our young hopes and dreams and just couldn't wait to say "I do." July 7, 2007-Lucky in Love-we sure were.
I can't help but get emotional when I think about the moment you became a dad. That moment that you came walking over to me with James in your arms-your eyes filled with tears, that smile on your face, when you said "He's perfect, Elizabeth," I'll always remember that. The big transformation. The moment I'll share with James over and over again until someday, God willing, he becomes a father and understands why it was such a pivotal time in our lives.
I smile when I remember finding out that we were having a second boy-a mini dream team for you. No longer a rookie dad, you walked over to me like a pro with Thomas in your arms. You weren't nervous, you weren't hesitant, you were ready for the challenge. Two little boys under two. Couldn't get better than that, right?
As hard as it is to remember the happier memories with Maggie, that look of pure terror on your face when they told us we were expecting a girl was priceless. A softy at heart, you knew you were doomed. You weren't sure how life would change with a girl added to the mix. Life got a little harder-or a lot harder that year. We had been floating along without many cares in the world because our love and our children came easy for us. The challenges, however, brought us to a new level in life. "Through sickness and health"-we get it now. The timing couldn't have been worse-we had just moved and our life was in boxes. I was on strict bedrest which meant you had to be mom and dad and take on double if not triple the work around the house. You had to be strong for me because I was falling apart. You held our little family together like glue.
I can still feel your forehead pressed on mine as Maggie entered the world. She was our beautiful tragedy. I knew it was as heartbreaking for you as it was for me, but again-you faced the challenges. You stepped up when I couldn't. You kept the boys happy and entertained, but then would make time for me to hold me and cry while we tried to piece things back together. A time when we could have easily fallen apart, we found ourselves closer than ever. We worked very hard to get to a place where we could remember our angel with smiles-through music that once connected us as teens, to little signs of hope, to blogs-we'd share what we could to help each other through.
Before we really even got our footing we got the call. Aileen needed us. Without hesitation, without skipping a beat or asking any questions, you were by my side ready to take on this completely unexpected new chapter. Do you know what that meant to my family and me? I'll never forget stopping outside of the maternity ward and taking a deep breath. A place that was once so happy for us, was extremely intimidating. You panicked-not over Aileen or your role as a new foster dad, but over the thought of hearing a newborn cry. We composed ourselves and walked in. You got to her first, scooped her up, and held her so tight. Your smile returned and it was more beautiful than ever. I don't even know if you, in that moment, realized how significant those early moments with her would be.
Watching your relationship with Aileen blossom in the past 11 months has been a gift. You are the definition of selflessness. You have helped give her a safe and secure home, strong arms to hold her, a gentle heart to love her, eyes that smile and let her know that all will be alright, and a father figure that any child would be lucky to have. You've set such an example for our boys that they stepped right up with no questions asked. You are constantly rolling with the punches and have taken on more than most ever could without ever complaining.
So as you celebrate your 7th Father's Day being a dad, a bereaved dad, a foster dad, a pre-adoptive dad, and even a loving fur dad-just the overall definition of a father-I hope you can sit back and soak up the love, respect, and admiration we have for you. I hope you realize how appreciated you are and how when I look back on my life-I know that I did something so right when I fell in love with you, married you, got to spend my life with you, and had the honor of watching you conquer your best title-"DAD."
Happy Father's Day!
Thursday, May 21, 2015
"No footprint is too small that it can not leave an imprint on this world."
I've seen your messages, texts, posts, cards, generous gifts...and I want to say thank you on behalf of Andy, James, Thomas, and me. I've spent the last month trying to find the lights in all of my darkness. Your words have brought me hope, healing, and restored my faith...for that I am grateful. I know you've been concerned, and I want to share my story with you.
I've always considered my boys blessings. I was born with a heart shaped uterus, sounds cute right? Kind of like a care bear? Well unfortunately, women born with bicornuate (heart shaped) uteruses struggle with infertility. When pregnancy happens, most babies are born pre-term or under weight. I was a wreck when I found out I had a heart shaped uterus back in 2008 when I became pregnant with James, but at 41 weeks, I gave birth to a big, healthy boy. Thomas followed suit in 2011 and came in with the exact same measurements as his brother. I couldn't have been happier.
Maggie was our sweet surprise. We had planned both pregnancies with our boys, so when I suddenly was nauseous back on September 20, 2014, it was a pleasant surprise to find out it wasn't a stomach virus, but that God had blessed us with another baby. I'm the type of person, who when she sees a positive pregnancy test, I have my entire life planned out with the baby. I may not know if it is a girl or a boy, what he or she will look like, but I know I have first smiles, steps, days of school, graduations, and weddings ahead of me. I love my babies from the moment I know they exist.
The timing was a little crazy. We had sold our condo, moved into my brothers' basement, was under negotiations on our forever home, and it was the busiest time of year at work.
My pregnancy with Maggie was similar to my others. The morning/all day sickness consumed me, I "popped" early, and the smell of coffee made me ill. I saw my little gummy bear at my first ultrasound and was thrilled. Days later, I was on the way home from a health fair when I received a call from my OBGYN. You know when the actual doctor calls, something must be wrong. She said they had found a small blood clot in my uterus and they were going to keep a close eye on it. She told me to take it easy and we'd check it again at my next ultrasound. Best case-the clot would be absorbed by my uterus around 20 weeks, or the worst case would be a miscarriage. I was a wreck. I cried and worried the whole ride home and just prayed everything would be OK. I got coverage for my work meetings and stayed off my feet as much as possible. I promised to do anything I could to keep my baby safe.
The days seemed to fly by back in October and November. I had my appointments and Maggie always had a strong heartbeat. Before I knew it, it was time to have my elective ultrasound. I was so anxious to find out if we were having a boy or a girl that I asked Andy if I could have an ultrasound for my birthday. When the tech said we were having a girl, I was overjoyed. I couldn't believe that the boys were going to have a baby sister. She was going to be the first granddaughter for both sides of our family. I stopped and grabbed her ruby slippers on the way home so I could surprise my mom.
My happiness was shattered a week later. I woke up feeling contractions, and knowing that I was only 16 weeks along, something didn't feel right. I went to my doctor and she checked for the heartbeat and to see if I was dilated, and everything was fine. She sent me home and told me to drink water and rest. I didn't get the chance to do that because as soon as I got home, I hemorrhaged. I thought I had lost my baby girl. I rushed to the ER and they did an ultrasound. Maggie was fine, but my small blood clot had turned into a large hematoma. I was told again that it could be absorbed by 20 weeks, or I could miscarry. I was put on strict bed rest and took it seriously.
I had an ultrasound a week later and Maggie was kicking and playing around in my belly and everything looked to be OK-minus the menacing hematoma. I had been bleeding since my trip to the ER and continued to bleed until the end of December. I had 8 days between Christmas and January 9th where I didn't bleed and I finally had hope that things were going to be OK. I was 20 weeks and the bleeding was subsiding. I thought I was close to being in the clear with everything and I was so thankful.
Friday, January 9th was my anatomy appointment-the fun one. The one where we get to see the arms, legs, spine, heart, and gender. I was excited to see my baby again and was hopeful for some good news about the hematoma. I knew something was wrong right away when the ultrasound tech turned on the screen. There was no amniotic fluid. Maggie had no room to move or dance around like she had in her prior ultrasounds. I couldn't breathe or speak. The ultrasound tech isn't allowed to say anything, so she left the room and the high risk doctor came in. He sat and held my hand and told me that Maggie was out of fluid and once the fluid is gone, there is nothing they can do. He said without fluid, her lungs could not develop and her muscles would be damaged because she has no room to stretch out. He may as well have taken all of my oxygen away, because I couldn't breathe. Everything started to go in slow motion. We scheduled an appointment for the following Monday to do one more ultrasound to see if there was anything else we could do to try to save my pregnancy.
I stayed at my parents house that weekend. I couldn't let the boys see me in the state I was in. I've never been so overwhelmed with sadness in my life. As a parent, you want to fix everything. It tortured me knowing Maggie was in my belly with a strong heartbeat and knowing there was absolutely nothing I could do to fix the situation. My friends Jill and Meagan took me to the ER for IV fluids. I know the doctor had said there was nothing I could do to replace the fluid, but I wanted to try anything. My bleeding got heavier that weekend, and I went to Brigham and Women's Hospital because I thought I had lost her, or if I hadn't, I wanted to be sure I had exhausted all options. They confirmed she still had a heartbeat, but she had no fluid, and my hematoma was still really big. They apologized and said there was nothing further we could do.
Monday, January 12th, Andy and I reluctantly checked in at South Shore Hospital. We were greeted by a therapist who was going to sit in the room with us for our final ultrasound. They wrapped me in warm blankets because my body was shaking so hard I thought I was going to fall off the table. Andy and I held hands as we listened to the doctor explain that there was nothing we could do to save the pregnancy and that my bleeding was too risky for my own health. Our best option was to induce labor to deliver Maggie.
They brought me across the hallway to labor and delivery. A room full of nurses met me and helped me get as comfortable as possible. It was all surreal. There are no words anyone can say to parents who are losing a baby. I know its terrible for us as parents, but also for family, friends, or just anyone who crosses paths with us. My mother, Auntie Betsy, Jill, Liz, and Rachael came to the hospital later that night and never left my side. They braved our battle with us. They helped keep me comfortable, distracted me enough to make me smile at times, held me when I cried, and shared my fears.
I labored for 44 hours. I was tortured with wanting to deliver, but being so scared to say goodbye For those 44 hours I knew my daughter was still in my belly and with me. I never wanted to let her go. As it got closer to delivery, my dad joined my group of supporters. We were all in the room together when it was time to push. My mom and Auntie Betsy helped coach Andy and me through this experience. Andy held me close as I delivered our little girl. On January 14, 2015 I gave birth to my sleeping beauty. She was perfect. She looked just like James, had my hands, and Andy's feet. She had long legs for such a tiny little girl, and white blonde eyelashes and eyebrows. She was born with her little fingers in her mouth-so content. We held her and loved her for 5 hours before we had to say goodbye. My parents got to hold their first granddaughter, my Auntie Betsy baptized her, and her 3 Fairy Godmothers were there waiting to love her. Andy and I took those hours to study her, kiss her, and hold her. I had carried her for over 20 weeks and held her for 5 hours...Saying our goodbyes will forever be the most painful moment of my life. I don't know if my heart will ever really heal. People say you learn to live with it a bit more, but forever feels like an awful long time to miss someone this much. Leaving the hospital the next day was like leaving a war zone. My body was tired and sore, and my belly and arms were empty.
It turns out my hematoma just got "too big." My placenta wasn't fully functioning, so it wasn't providing Maggie with what she needed to survive. Because my placenta was a bit broken, I needed a D&C after delivering her. I was taken to the operating room for an hour where they removed any placenta or tissue from my uterus. I was told to take it easy when I got home to give my body time to heal. For 12 days after having Maggie, I was too tired to get up from bed, I still felt really sick, and I was still bleeding. I talked to the nurse at the doctor's office and she said it was common to bleed after delivery. I chalked the rest off to depression.
Monday, January 26th I woke up with labor pains. I got up to go to the bathroom to see what the heck was going on and I started hemorrhaging uncontrollably. I needed to be taken by ambulance to the hospital. I arrived at the ER and they were doing blood type tests on me because they knew I had lost so much blood a transfusion would be necessary. OB rushed me to the OR to have another D&C. I woke up after the procedure and found out that during the D&C, my uterus and bladder were punctured but they thought they had now removed all of the placenta. I had a laparoscopy to make sure nothing else was damaged in the meantime. The doctor said that some tissue had been left behind from the first D&C and it had gotten infected and my uterus still thought I was pregnant to it was still filling with blood. They kept me overnight and throughout the next day (the day of the blizzard). At that point I had had 4 blood transfusions, was spiking fevers, was still bleeding heavily, had the beginnings of pneumonia, and was too lethargic to lift my arms or legs. I was terrified.
The on call OBGYN said it would be in my best interest to be transferred to Beth Israel in Boston. She was worried that I was getting critical and she wanted me to be in Boston where they had better equipment and more specialists to help me. I was taken by ambulance to BIDMC and greeted by a team of specialists. One doctor really stood out to me. He pulled up a chair and sat beside my bed and asked me if I had delivered a boy or a girl. He asked me what her name was. He asked me what services we would be having for her and how I was going to grieve. Finally! Finally someone really understood that as worried as I was about my own health, I was suffering from a broken heart. I had just wanted someone to acknowledge Maggie in all of this mayhem. He reassured me that they would fix me and they'd have me home to my boys and healthy as soon as they could.
Within a few hours they had done ultrasounds and MRI's and they sat down as a team to come up with a plan for me. They came back to my room and went over the plan. They'd start with two more blood transfusions and do a D&C. If while in there, they felt that the D&C weren't working, they would do a C-section to have better access to my uterus to fix it. If that didn't work, I'd have a complete hysterectomy. Radiology and urology would be in the OR with the team to ensure nothing else got damaged and to control my bleeding. I am so serious when I say, when I said goodbye to Andy and my parents in pre-op, I didn't think I'd see them again. It was the scariest feeling I've ever had.
I woke up to cheering. I couldn't believe it. Not only did I wake up, but the doctors were all smiling. They had found a large piece of placenta that had been missed with my first 2 D&C's. I didn't need a C-section and I didn't need a hysterectomy. I was still in one piece. I was so relieved. I'll forever be thankful for those doctors that went in with a careful hand and fixed me.
Unfortunately because my uterus is still swollen from the pregnancy and the trauma, they couldn't operate on my bladder to repair the hole. I stayed in the hospital for a couple more days and was sent home with a Foley catheter. As annoying as it is, I'm just happy to be alive and home with my boys. I have to get through my bladder surgery and recovery and will finally be able to really heal mentally and emotionally. January felt like a year, not just a month. It's crazy what can happen in such a short time.
So here I am. It's still me. It feel's like me, but I just have a little more sadness in my heart. I found myself mad at God for having me keep Maggie after my first hemorrhage in December and for giving me hope. Once I held her in my arms, I knew why He did that. I have her face in my heart and the feeling of her tiny fingers wrapped around my thumb in my mind. For someone so small, who never breathed a breath of air out of my belly, she was SO loved.
Thank you for coming along on Maggie's journey with me. I felt you all rooting for us. The teamwork was incredible. Andy and I are forever thankful to all of you for loving our baby girl, and for being our lights in our darkest hours.
I've always considered my boys blessings. I was born with a heart shaped uterus, sounds cute right? Kind of like a care bear? Well unfortunately, women born with bicornuate (heart shaped) uteruses struggle with infertility. When pregnancy happens, most babies are born pre-term or under weight. I was a wreck when I found out I had a heart shaped uterus back in 2008 when I became pregnant with James, but at 41 weeks, I gave birth to a big, healthy boy. Thomas followed suit in 2011 and came in with the exact same measurements as his brother. I couldn't have been happier.
Maggie was our sweet surprise. We had planned both pregnancies with our boys, so when I suddenly was nauseous back on September 20, 2014, it was a pleasant surprise to find out it wasn't a stomach virus, but that God had blessed us with another baby. I'm the type of person, who when she sees a positive pregnancy test, I have my entire life planned out with the baby. I may not know if it is a girl or a boy, what he or she will look like, but I know I have first smiles, steps, days of school, graduations, and weddings ahead of me. I love my babies from the moment I know they exist.
The timing was a little crazy. We had sold our condo, moved into my brothers' basement, was under negotiations on our forever home, and it was the busiest time of year at work.
My pregnancy with Maggie was similar to my others. The morning/all day sickness consumed me, I "popped" early, and the smell of coffee made me ill. I saw my little gummy bear at my first ultrasound and was thrilled. Days later, I was on the way home from a health fair when I received a call from my OBGYN. You know when the actual doctor calls, something must be wrong. She said they had found a small blood clot in my uterus and they were going to keep a close eye on it. She told me to take it easy and we'd check it again at my next ultrasound. Best case-the clot would be absorbed by my uterus around 20 weeks, or the worst case would be a miscarriage. I was a wreck. I cried and worried the whole ride home and just prayed everything would be OK. I got coverage for my work meetings and stayed off my feet as much as possible. I promised to do anything I could to keep my baby safe.
The days seemed to fly by back in October and November. I had my appointments and Maggie always had a strong heartbeat. Before I knew it, it was time to have my elective ultrasound. I was so anxious to find out if we were having a boy or a girl that I asked Andy if I could have an ultrasound for my birthday. When the tech said we were having a girl, I was overjoyed. I couldn't believe that the boys were going to have a baby sister. She was going to be the first granddaughter for both sides of our family. I stopped and grabbed her ruby slippers on the way home so I could surprise my mom.
My happiness was shattered a week later. I woke up feeling contractions, and knowing that I was only 16 weeks along, something didn't feel right. I went to my doctor and she checked for the heartbeat and to see if I was dilated, and everything was fine. She sent me home and told me to drink water and rest. I didn't get the chance to do that because as soon as I got home, I hemorrhaged. I thought I had lost my baby girl. I rushed to the ER and they did an ultrasound. Maggie was fine, but my small blood clot had turned into a large hematoma. I was told again that it could be absorbed by 20 weeks, or I could miscarry. I was put on strict bed rest and took it seriously.
I had an ultrasound a week later and Maggie was kicking and playing around in my belly and everything looked to be OK-minus the menacing hematoma. I had been bleeding since my trip to the ER and continued to bleed until the end of December. I had 8 days between Christmas and January 9th where I didn't bleed and I finally had hope that things were going to be OK. I was 20 weeks and the bleeding was subsiding. I thought I was close to being in the clear with everything and I was so thankful.
Friday, January 9th was my anatomy appointment-the fun one. The one where we get to see the arms, legs, spine, heart, and gender. I was excited to see my baby again and was hopeful for some good news about the hematoma. I knew something was wrong right away when the ultrasound tech turned on the screen. There was no amniotic fluid. Maggie had no room to move or dance around like she had in her prior ultrasounds. I couldn't breathe or speak. The ultrasound tech isn't allowed to say anything, so she left the room and the high risk doctor came in. He sat and held my hand and told me that Maggie was out of fluid and once the fluid is gone, there is nothing they can do. He said without fluid, her lungs could not develop and her muscles would be damaged because she has no room to stretch out. He may as well have taken all of my oxygen away, because I couldn't breathe. Everything started to go in slow motion. We scheduled an appointment for the following Monday to do one more ultrasound to see if there was anything else we could do to try to save my pregnancy.
I stayed at my parents house that weekend. I couldn't let the boys see me in the state I was in. I've never been so overwhelmed with sadness in my life. As a parent, you want to fix everything. It tortured me knowing Maggie was in my belly with a strong heartbeat and knowing there was absolutely nothing I could do to fix the situation. My friends Jill and Meagan took me to the ER for IV fluids. I know the doctor had said there was nothing I could do to replace the fluid, but I wanted to try anything. My bleeding got heavier that weekend, and I went to Brigham and Women's Hospital because I thought I had lost her, or if I hadn't, I wanted to be sure I had exhausted all options. They confirmed she still had a heartbeat, but she had no fluid, and my hematoma was still really big. They apologized and said there was nothing further we could do.
Monday, January 12th, Andy and I reluctantly checked in at South Shore Hospital. We were greeted by a therapist who was going to sit in the room with us for our final ultrasound. They wrapped me in warm blankets because my body was shaking so hard I thought I was going to fall off the table. Andy and I held hands as we listened to the doctor explain that there was nothing we could do to save the pregnancy and that my bleeding was too risky for my own health. Our best option was to induce labor to deliver Maggie.
They brought me across the hallway to labor and delivery. A room full of nurses met me and helped me get as comfortable as possible. It was all surreal. There are no words anyone can say to parents who are losing a baby. I know its terrible for us as parents, but also for family, friends, or just anyone who crosses paths with us. My mother, Auntie Betsy, Jill, Liz, and Rachael came to the hospital later that night and never left my side. They braved our battle with us. They helped keep me comfortable, distracted me enough to make me smile at times, held me when I cried, and shared my fears.
I labored for 44 hours. I was tortured with wanting to deliver, but being so scared to say goodbye For those 44 hours I knew my daughter was still in my belly and with me. I never wanted to let her go. As it got closer to delivery, my dad joined my group of supporters. We were all in the room together when it was time to push. My mom and Auntie Betsy helped coach Andy and me through this experience. Andy held me close as I delivered our little girl. On January 14, 2015 I gave birth to my sleeping beauty. She was perfect. She looked just like James, had my hands, and Andy's feet. She had long legs for such a tiny little girl, and white blonde eyelashes and eyebrows. She was born with her little fingers in her mouth-so content. We held her and loved her for 5 hours before we had to say goodbye. My parents got to hold their first granddaughter, my Auntie Betsy baptized her, and her 3 Fairy Godmothers were there waiting to love her. Andy and I took those hours to study her, kiss her, and hold her. I had carried her for over 20 weeks and held her for 5 hours...Saying our goodbyes will forever be the most painful moment of my life. I don't know if my heart will ever really heal. People say you learn to live with it a bit more, but forever feels like an awful long time to miss someone this much. Leaving the hospital the next day was like leaving a war zone. My body was tired and sore, and my belly and arms were empty.
It turns out my hematoma just got "too big." My placenta wasn't fully functioning, so it wasn't providing Maggie with what she needed to survive. Because my placenta was a bit broken, I needed a D&C after delivering her. I was taken to the operating room for an hour where they removed any placenta or tissue from my uterus. I was told to take it easy when I got home to give my body time to heal. For 12 days after having Maggie, I was too tired to get up from bed, I still felt really sick, and I was still bleeding. I talked to the nurse at the doctor's office and she said it was common to bleed after delivery. I chalked the rest off to depression.
Monday, January 26th I woke up with labor pains. I got up to go to the bathroom to see what the heck was going on and I started hemorrhaging uncontrollably. I needed to be taken by ambulance to the hospital. I arrived at the ER and they were doing blood type tests on me because they knew I had lost so much blood a transfusion would be necessary. OB rushed me to the OR to have another D&C. I woke up after the procedure and found out that during the D&C, my uterus and bladder were punctured but they thought they had now removed all of the placenta. I had a laparoscopy to make sure nothing else was damaged in the meantime. The doctor said that some tissue had been left behind from the first D&C and it had gotten infected and my uterus still thought I was pregnant to it was still filling with blood. They kept me overnight and throughout the next day (the day of the blizzard). At that point I had had 4 blood transfusions, was spiking fevers, was still bleeding heavily, had the beginnings of pneumonia, and was too lethargic to lift my arms or legs. I was terrified.
The on call OBGYN said it would be in my best interest to be transferred to Beth Israel in Boston. She was worried that I was getting critical and she wanted me to be in Boston where they had better equipment and more specialists to help me. I was taken by ambulance to BIDMC and greeted by a team of specialists. One doctor really stood out to me. He pulled up a chair and sat beside my bed and asked me if I had delivered a boy or a girl. He asked me what her name was. He asked me what services we would be having for her and how I was going to grieve. Finally! Finally someone really understood that as worried as I was about my own health, I was suffering from a broken heart. I had just wanted someone to acknowledge Maggie in all of this mayhem. He reassured me that they would fix me and they'd have me home to my boys and healthy as soon as they could.
Within a few hours they had done ultrasounds and MRI's and they sat down as a team to come up with a plan for me. They came back to my room and went over the plan. They'd start with two more blood transfusions and do a D&C. If while in there, they felt that the D&C weren't working, they would do a C-section to have better access to my uterus to fix it. If that didn't work, I'd have a complete hysterectomy. Radiology and urology would be in the OR with the team to ensure nothing else got damaged and to control my bleeding. I am so serious when I say, when I said goodbye to Andy and my parents in pre-op, I didn't think I'd see them again. It was the scariest feeling I've ever had.
I woke up to cheering. I couldn't believe it. Not only did I wake up, but the doctors were all smiling. They had found a large piece of placenta that had been missed with my first 2 D&C's. I didn't need a C-section and I didn't need a hysterectomy. I was still in one piece. I was so relieved. I'll forever be thankful for those doctors that went in with a careful hand and fixed me.
Unfortunately because my uterus is still swollen from the pregnancy and the trauma, they couldn't operate on my bladder to repair the hole. I stayed in the hospital for a couple more days and was sent home with a Foley catheter. As annoying as it is, I'm just happy to be alive and home with my boys. I have to get through my bladder surgery and recovery and will finally be able to really heal mentally and emotionally. January felt like a year, not just a month. It's crazy what can happen in such a short time.
So here I am. It's still me. It feel's like me, but I just have a little more sadness in my heart. I found myself mad at God for having me keep Maggie after my first hemorrhage in December and for giving me hope. Once I held her in my arms, I knew why He did that. I have her face in my heart and the feeling of her tiny fingers wrapped around my thumb in my mind. For someone so small, who never breathed a breath of air out of my belly, she was SO loved.
Thank you for coming along on Maggie's journey with me. I felt you all rooting for us. The teamwork was incredible. Andy and I are forever thankful to all of you for loving our baby girl, and for being our lights in our darkest hours.
For the rest of my life I will search for moments full of you. -Anonymous
May 21, 2015
Dear Maggie-
I wish things had turned out differently. I wish that tonight I was sitting here with my hospital bags packed, hyping your brothers up for the birth of their baby sister. I wish that I had butterflies fluttering so strongly in my belly at the anticipation of your delivery-your first cry, seeing your dad's proud face, feeling my heart swell so much I would think it were about to burst when I would be holding you in my arms for the first time. Would you have James' button nose? Or Thomas' blue eyes?
I've spent the past four months wishing I could just wake up from this nightmare. Just wake up and have you still here with me. Unfortunately it hasn't happened, and I'm left here feeling broken hearted tonight. I'm coping. I'm getting by. Grief is cruel and unpredictable, but I'm finding ways to work with it. A dear friend gave me a sign with a beautiful quote, "For the rest of my life I will search for moments full of you." How perfect is that? I can't have you with me, so I find that searching for those moments helps me find peace in this unbelievable loss. I want to share with you some of the beauty that is you.
Maggie-you are the first star I see in the sky every night, the soft breeze I feel on my face. You're the breathtaking purple sunsets. You are the feathers that land gently beside me or surprise me in the most random of places, (I saw Thomas playing with one the other day and it made me smile). You are the glitter that covers the freshly fallen snow, the songs that the cardinals sing to me. You are the tiny butterflies that follow me around when I'm working in the yard. You are the blossoms that are popping around the yard that surprise me now everyday. You are my dandelion field full of wishes.
Sweet girl-you are the magic I hear in the belly laughs that your brothers share. You are the energy I feel when your father wraps his strong arms around me and tells me everything is going to be OK. You are the warmth in the tears that stain my cheeks when I question God, "Why?" You are the chills I get when I wrap my prayer shawl around me. I know you are with us-always.
My Daughter-You are the reason that I've promised myself that I will slow down and focus on these hidden gifts. You are the reason that I will spend every day on this earth appreciating life, enjoying life, fulfilling my life. You are the reason I am excited for Heaven some day. You are the reason I no longer question just how beautiful Heaven is-I know...I held a piece of Heaven in my arms the day I held you.
Sometimes I catch myself pressing my fingers together as though your tiny hand is still between them. I never want to forget your hands, the way my lips felt when they kissed your perfect forehead, how small you felt in my arms. I'll continue to remember you and to feed these memories, to allow the grief to set in because grief is love with no place to go. Instead of carrying you in my arms, I will carry you in my heart, until we meet again.
Until then...I'll continue to search for those moments full of you.
Sunday, June 2, 2013
If you're fond of sand dunes and salty air... Quaint little villages here and there... You're sure to fall in love with old Cape Cod....
If you ask me about my earliest memories of summer, I'd describe the following...Waking up to the soft breeze of my window fan blowing on me in my bedroom on Pudding Brook Drive. I can picture my mom in my doorway whispering, "It's time to wake up Beth-we want to get to the beach nice and early!" I'd leap out of bed and put on my bathing suit and sundress that she had laid out for me the night before. I'd go down to the kitchen to see her packing up the final snacks in the cooler, (she'd already made the lunches the night before). She'd safely buckle me in, roll down the windows, and would hit "Play" on her cassette player in the car. Patty Page's soothing voice would play over the radio..."If you're fond of sand dunes and salty air..." I'd hear my mom singing along. Peace...
We'd stop at a cute little bakery in Marshfield where she would get a coffee and I would pick out a frosted cookie. We'd get back in the car, anticipation building in my belly...I loved the ocean. She would keep me focused by saying, "Tell me when you can see the ocean Beth. What color do you think it will be today? I bet I can tell you-it's the color of your eyes. Your eyes always match the ocean." I'd feel so beautiful...
At the time I had figured she was too focused on the road to notice the water creeping up on the left. I'd finally shout from the back seat, "There it is!" She'd find our parking spot, right next to the North Street sign and we'd make our way to the beach for the day.
These were my earliest, and some of my most cherished memories of summer....
Brant Rock has since, never let me down. When I first got my license, I would drive there at night and sit on the wall. I'd spend my days there with my best friends "working on our tan," and even rocked my first bikini on that beach when I was 15, (I felt like the whole beach was going to notice that my belly was exposed)! I remember ridiculous things like getting pegged in the back of the thigh with a renegade whiffle ball the first day in my bikini, (stupid teenage boys), Laura Kelly falling off the jetty and getting scratched up, my crazy brother always running full speed into the waves, Mandy Kelly smashing a glass bottle accidentally on the rocks and being scolded by a bunch of moms, intense hunts for crabs, slushes, my moms "only go up to your knees" rule, and of course some sunburns I regretted from baby oil (oops!).
Saturday June 27, 2009, was the weekend before my due date with James. I was gigantic, pregnant, hot, and anxious. I woke up and said to Andy that we should go to the beach once more before we had our baby and wouldn't have a peaceful trip to the beach again for a long time. I threw on a long sundress, (I was not one who could have pulled off a two-piece...or even an actual bathing suit for that matter at that point in the pregnancy), packed a lunch and some drinks, grabbed a book about pregnancy/newborns, and we headed to Brant Rock. We arrived at the beach super early and got a great spot. Andy and I relaxed, read, and most importantly got to talk about the arrival of our baby boy. We walked along the beach, had some laughs (that still make me actually giggle). Being full-term meant I had to make frequent trips to the bathroom, and the sand didn't help with the urgency. The heat eventually took over and we decided to head to Dairy Queen to cool off. I vaguely remember sitting on a bench with Andy holding a soft serve vanilla with cherry dip, and looking at him and feeling so happy. I actually said, "This is one of my happiest days ever." I felt like it was the perfect close to our chapter of "Andy and Elizabeth."
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| One of my favorite pictures of James. Celebrating his last weekend as an only child at Brant Rock. |
Flash forward 2 years to July 16, 2011-the Saturday before my scheduled c-section for Thomas. Same size, same plan, probably the same tent-sized sundress, only this time I told Andy that we should take advantage of our beach day because it probably will never be as peaceful as it was with just the three of us-Andy, James, and me. We packed up our little family and made our way to Brant Rock. James looked so big to me that day. I spent the time soaking up the thought of him becoming a big brother-how would he be? How was he going to handle this life altering week? How was I going to say goodbye to this comfort zone of mine? The three of us splashed in the ice cold waves, (one actually knocking James down), got covered in sand, and exhausted ourselves before calling it quits and heading to Dairy Queen. Again-same bench, same "happy thoughts." The final chapter of "Andy, Elizabeth, and James."
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| Best Friends from the start |
....And here I am. Almost 2 years later. June 2, 2013. I'm not expecting, not as small as I used to be, but not as big as I was, a new sundress, and a hot day. I had spent last week battling some strange sickness that left me corpse-like in my bed. I needed to venture out and I needed some time to regroup my family. We altered the plans a bit because our 2 year old needs his mid-day nap and was born a nice shade of Irish-pale, so the sun doesn't do him any good. We opted for a late afternoon trip to Brant Rock. I packed a picnic supper, snacks, apple juice, and some dog treats because this was going to be a full-McKenna family trip to the beach. I was a little nervous, but hopeful. James was getting anxious in the backseat on the way there-I could almost feel his butterflies in my own belly, remembering that I once felt the same way he did. I caught myself actually say, "Tell me when you see the ocean James!" I looked over and saw him stretching out his chin trying to peer out the front window. "It's over there mom!" He saw it! I got to be the mom this time and pretended I didn't see it so he could feel extra proud of himself. Andy parked the car across in a little spot directly across from where my mom used to park. We unloaded the car and made our way to the jetty.
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| Curious little guy spotted a lady bug |
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| Thomas found a window between the rocks! |
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| Thomas-always with his snacks and apple juice! |
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| Watson keeping an eye on the baby of the family |
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| You can see the loon splashing near by! They were so excited! |
Each of the boys got their own sundaes (with a cherry on top per James' request). Not a drop was spilled. I had my vanilla with cherry dip and found myself realizing that this day spent at Brant Rock was again one of my most cherished of all time. We successfully pulled off a trip not only with the boys, but with Watson too, where we were an actual unit. We all held it together, everyone was happy, and at one point I even heard James say, "I love you Thomas." We put on the lullaby CD we have in the car and James was asleep before we were out of Marshfield. Thomas stayed up singing along. Both boys went to bed with no problem. It was a totally spontaneous, perfect day.
I've been humming my favorite Patty Page tune all night as it loops through my head. It's only the 2nd day in June and I have the whole summer ahead of me. I can feel the excitement my mother must have felt when I was that small and we'd spend our days at Brant Rock. I can't wait to watch the boys fall in love with it the way I did.
Happy Summer!
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| My loves, My life |
Wednesday, May 22, 2013
Before you go to sleep...say a little prayer. Every day in every way it's getting better and better...
Here I am, almost a year later from my last blog post. Thomas started walking and, well, life picked up pace!
I've had so many blog ideas going through my mind over the past year, and finally tonight, while lying in bed singing to the boys, I realized its time to get typing and documenting more sweet memories of my Beautiful Boys...
Like I've said, (and will probably repeat post after post), life feels like it is on fast-forward. It's a crazy thing. While in traffic the other day, I was thinking about life, (I'm such a deep person). To me a month, for the most part, feels like no time at all...but to Thomas, who has only had 22 months of life on this earth, a month means one or more major milestones. He's not singing his full A,B,C's this month, but you know-in another 30 days, he might have it mastered!
So here I am...46 months into motherhood. In another 2 months, I'll be saying I have a 2 and a 4 year old. How this happened, I have no idea. I am a mom. I keep two boys alive every day. Somedays it is more of a challenge, (especially with the terrible 3's-whoever said it was the terrible 2's had it all wrong).
3 has been the most "interesting" age thus far. James, who has always been a very verbal child, has become a lawyer. He is full of questions, is constantly challenging me, and has his word bank of "fresh" words to spit fire at me when he's upset. Somehow, despite his little mouth, love for teasing his brother, and thorough enjoyment of watching me chase him to try to get his shoes on, he still still manages to possess a sweetness about him that makes him a magnet for people. He loves his friends, his family, his pets, and his toys. He can be a world class stinker during the day, but when he's tired-in my arms is the only place he wants to be. I have been talking myself through this stage, reminding myself that he is a boy and he must have an abundance of testosterone pumping through that tiny body. I'm convincing myself to let him "do his thing" as long as at the end of the day he'll still snuggle me, carry his stuffed animals around, and make me kiss him 100 times before he closes his eyes at night. My goal is to raise my boys with a perfect blend of tough and soft. I respect his love of knowledge, the fearlessness when he stands up to Andy, (who towers over him and could technically squash him like a bug if he wanted to), when he thinks his argument is worth fighting for, and his energy for life. He wakes up each morning ready to take on the day. He runs in the room with his booming voice and asks "What are we doing today, Mom?" I don't know how all of that fits into one small human, but it does. It's my little, scrappy, James Andrew.
Being the big brother is a tough, but satisfying job for James. Most of the time, he soaks it up. He enjoys greeting Thomas every morning, (before Andy or I do). He accepts the task of picking out which toys Thomas should play with first. He likes repeating good news to Thomas. On the flip side, if he is in his "terror" mood, he also enjoys saying the opposite of what Thomas wants, "teaching" Thomas which toys are not his to play with, or purposely going out of his way to annoy his baby brother. I'm trying to remove the sentence, "James-you know better," from my vocabulary. I sometimes forget that James was only 2 when Thomas came into the picture. He's only 3 now-and handling the role of a big brother is a big job. I have to step back and realize that this little guy is still trying to figure out life himself! Lately we've been working on this. James gets my reassurance that he is being a good brother by giving me a thumbs up. If I respond with a thumbs up, his face lights up and he is happy-which in return, makes me, (and Thomas), happy!
Being the little brother also has it's up's and down's. He is constantly being robbed, he can't run fast enough when being chased, (or when trying to make a getaway with a good toy or snack), and he lacks the vocabulary to defend himself with words. However, he's got Mom and Dad to protect him, (and he knows it)! If Thomas manages to sneak something from James, he knows to book it to me. This way, once James discovers what has gone down, he has me to protect him. I know this skill-I mastered it myself (being the youngest child and all). When James and Thomas are at school or the playground, James acts as Thomas' bodyguard. If anyone approaches, he introduces Thomas as his little brother and makes sure everyone is nice to him. In return, Thomas always has James' back. He mimics everything James does, guards James' toys when he walks away, and hugs James any chance he can get. Seeing this bond form between these two little men is what keeps me going every day!
At 22 months, Thomas' personality is really starting to shine. He is a lovebug. I felt guilt for the first year of his life because I was so busy and occupied with James, I didn't get that extra newborn snuggle time that I had cherished so much when James was born. Thomas has made up for it now. He reminds me of a little kangaroo baby-always wanting to be in my lap. He brings me toys and books and just turns around as if to tell me, "get ready, I'm about to sit in your lap." During family movie time, he has to sit in my lap. "Mommy sit!" is a common command for him. If he wants to relax, he wants me beside him. He enjoys surprising Andy and me with spontaneous "I love you Daddy's" and "I love you Mommy's." If I'm on the floor playing with James, he'll sneak up behind me and give me a big hug and kiss. I can hear him coming by his little giggles (he's not good with holding in his anticipation)! When he stands beside James while they play, I"ll catch him resting his head on James' shoulder-his way of giving him a little hug. Thomas loves a good prank and he loves being silly. He dances his way into a room-not just walking, but really busting a move. When he gets excited, he dances in a little circle (and actually says, "Dance! Dance! Dance!" It's his happy dance. He's a happy guy.
The boys and I are finally falling into a solid bedtime routine. It's taken a while, lots of starts and stops, but I think we have one set in stone now. They line up at my bureau, and each night one of us gets to be "line leader" and the other is "door closer." We march to their room, (Thomas loves when Daddy is there to cheer us on). Door closer makes sure the door is closed, I shut off the light, then its time to sing. I turn into a human juke box. They shout out songs and I sing. Thomas' requests are almost always "Gaga" (Bad Romance) or "Papa" (Morningtown Ride). He throws in "Bus" (Wheels on the Bus) every once in a while to mix it up. James always requests "We are Young" (his favorite), but right before we go to sleep-right as my body is relaxing, knowing I've survived another day with my busy boys, he asks me to sing "Monsters Gone and Daddy's Here," (Beautiful Boy by John Lennon). I sing it at least 3 or 4 times for him. This not only relaxes him, but it relaxes me too. I tune into the words (and try not to think of how out of tune I actually am)....
Close your eyes
Have no fear
The monsters gone, he's on the run and your daddy's here...
Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful
Beautiful boy
Before you go to sleep
Say a little prayer
Every day in every way
It's getting better and better
Beautiful beautiful beautiful
Beautiful Boy
Out on the ocean
Sailing away
I can hardly wait
To see you come of age
But I guess we'll both just have to be patient
Cause it's a long way to go
A hard row to hoe
It's a long way to go
But in the meantime
Before you cross the street
Take my hand
Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans
Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful
Beautiful boy
Before you go to sleep
Say a little prayer
Every day in every way
It's getting better and better....
As chaotic and as fast paced as my life may feel, I wouldn't trade it for anything. These two beautiful, beautiful boys have surely rocked my world-but they are me. They are who I am. I can dwell on what I may be doing wrong daily, how stressed I may feel, or how sometimes I really just miss the days of a long, quiet shower without a paparazzi at the door, but the fact that they want to be there with me-every second shows me that I'm doing something right. As I sing the words, "every day, in every way it's getting better and better" I remind myself that the difficult parts of today will be the ones I'm laughing about tomorrow, and ones someday in the future I'll miss, and will want back for just a moment.
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