baby hunger / the pain and the joy

am feeling a bit anxious about documenting tidbits about this pregnancy as i am not so sure how to dive in. i'm tiptoeing around posting about the topic i love: babies. perhaps because these last couple years have been full of wanting, wishing, and waiting for a baby. hoping for a positive sign on that silly stick. i know what it's like to read / skim / cruise past / even unsubscribe from blogs about pregnancy. sometimes it's just too painful to read. i know how it feels to feel like you're failing every month; to be rejected from doctors because they're only accepting pregnant patients; to feel lonely and lost and like no one understands; to be the girl people are tiptoeing around. i know how it feels to throw a pity party (with a sad bowl of ice cream).

more recently, i know how it feels to wish (on every star in the galaxy) that your little one had another little one to play with, to share everything with, to eat breakfast with, to buckle seatbelts with, to share french fries with, to run around with, to grow up with, to giggle madly with, to ride in the wagon with, to splash in the bathtub with, to learn with–even perhaps–to fight with. i know that i-wish-to-give-him-a-sibling yearning so well (and hope never to forget it). 

i want to acknowledge those of you waiting for a baby to join your family. i'm sorry what you're longing for is not happening. we've had a taste of feeling truly baby hungry and i know no one can say the right thing to comfort you in those dark times of sadness. every situation is different and you hear hopeful stories, but you never know how your own story will play out. you want to have faith but you also want to be realistic. however, i know the comfort arrives in little doses. in small ways i would look at my life after suffering the miscarriage and think it's actually pretty perfect, i've been so blessed. we are so grateful to already have one healthy happy child in our arms; so many we know are still waiting for (or mourning after) their babies. i see others dealing with difficulty and feel thankful for my burden. i can handle this i would think. we can be strong through this. i know God has a plan for each of us individually; understanding the timing of it is the hardest part.

finding out we were indeed expecting was almost shocking, as i was getting used to those negative results. it was such a joyous happy feeling, one we couldn't keep secret for long. we told our families on christmas with little matryoshka doll ornaments with our mini announcement scrolled up inside their tummies. (the first signs of pregnancy were my wildly colorful and phenomenally crazy dreams. i'd forgotten about pregnancy dreams and didn't even realize that could be a sign; but night after night i kept having random, awesome circus flying incredible dreams.) and yes, of course i've been worried about miscarrying again but have a much better outlook on pregnancy this time around. i have tried to enjoy the nauseated-morning-saltine-cracker routine. i've tried to think positively and know in my heart that God has a plan for this little baby. no matter what happens, i'm still its mama. knowing that means i've tried to treasure mothering this soul each and every day thus far. i've learned about letting go of trying to be in control and rather, enjoy feeling the absolute joy of carrying a miracle.

sweetness.

we spied these santa claus cupcakes at a cafe last weekend.
the marshmallow beards were just too cute. i love christmastime. 
especially watching what delights my little boy.

santa is the big word around here. hi santa. bye santa. and ho ho ho! we're cuddling up tonight with a christmas movie, twinkle lights and writing christmas cards. little women, elf or family man is on my must-watch-soon list. 

more importantly. i am hoping you're feeling all merry and bright.
and if not, perhaps, calm and peace can fill your homes and your hearts. 

i've been thinking a lot these days. my would-be due date is approaching and i have pangs of sadness and depression. benji has learned the word baby and often brings the baby Jesus to me, from our nativity, cradled in his arms. it is the sweetest thing in the world. and nearly breaks my heart knowing that i once imagined him having a little sibling at this special time of year. i am learning what having faith means. i've gained great perspective from enduring the trial of a miscarriage. i realize this is a hard time for a lot of you. the holidays that are supposed to be happy and magical are often the hardest for those who have suffered loss and pain. my soul feels quiet remembering that.

i recently read a beautiful (strong, courageous, incredible) post by my friend erin. (all her blog posts are this way.) she and her husband lost their newborn baby just days after he was born, this past february. her inspired writings about her son henry have truly opened my eyes and my heart. i am grateful to her and many others who let us into their world and let us see what it might be like to walk in their shoes. i feel we are better people when we understand each other a little bit more. every time she writes, she teaches me something about life, about faith, about a mother's love. my heart just did a little lurch, mourning for their empty arms this christmas. of course erin was the one to write the sweetest of sympathy notes soon after my miscarriage, amidst her own deep sorrows. she is a strong example of the kind of loving wonderful friend we can be, especially at this time of year. i hope and pray i can be a bit more sensitive and thoughtful and generous this season.

a two part post.

weekend review + big winners to announce. thus, the two part post.

part one.  this weekend was full. completely summerfull. which was lovely. we watched summer rainclouds roll in and then roll out. i snapped drive-by photos. i made a little movie of my little boy unloading the dishwasher. he hands me clean utensils one by one. it's the cutest thing i've ever seen. if he accidentally grabs two forks, he'll put one back. now i know how parents get their kicks. he has completely changed my attitude about doing dishes. (and most everything else in the world.)

we went out for an event and i attempted to rock the smoky eye (thanks to a great how-to in a library book) and came home for a mission impossible marathon (again thank you, local library). saturday morning, i got to read a magazine and listen to my ipod while relaxing by the pool, which is my version of bliss. this being my reward for an early morning work out. i was channeling a wee bit of eleanor saturday morning. eleanor roosevelt says, "You must do the things you think you cannot do." which for me, meant walking into an exercise class called butts and guts. and staying the whole time. the clever title alone makes me want to lie on the couch with kardashian reruns. however everytime i think about losing this baby weight it is like a personal invitation to a pity party. which is pathetic. a pity party never has party favors or pretty pom pom puffs. there are no happy guests mingling or elton john cds playing. there are no fresh flowers or coordinating color themes. pity parties are lame which is my new motivation to exercise. it's working.

i still have bouts of mourning sickness mixed with a general overwhelming sadness about dear ones grieving and dealing with their own experiences of loss and heartbreak. like ocean waves, empathy has taken over a bit and i cannot stop feeling a new sensitivity for what other people are going through. i am much more aware of feelings (mine and others') than ever before. which i hope is life's way of teaching me to be a better, kinder, soft hearted person. these days i am consistently attempting to choose to be positive and cheerful and optimistic when it never used to be a conscious choice. i am continuing to heal from the huge upset and have buried myself in new projects, crafts and thick library books. thanks to those of you who have been so thoughtful; i had no idea fellow blogging friends would reach out and lift my spirits so much.

part two. thank you for the awesome feedback about the new collection of mini diaries. i can always count on you, collectively, as the official cheerleading squad when it comes to my crafty endeavors. i owe all my mini mart shop success to you blog readers, as i am not one who ever branches out to advertise for reals. a heartfelt thank you for the sweet comments and for spreading the word.

as for my giveaway, i've got a few big weekend winners to announce.
ami, I love how these make you think of some positive things for the day! Just lovely.
kendra, I love the youthful print diaries! They are so cute! I love reading your blog! Thanks!
amanda laplante, A classic kind of girl, I can't help but be drawn to the sophisticated prints.
and laura, how perfectly pint-sized & lovely! (i am a sucker for all things mini...)

congrats! winners, please contact me directly with your shipping details. 

stay tuned. this week i'll be featuring a handful of guest posts which include a generous giveaway along with more incredible how-to's.

how-to cope with the loss of a baby

How-To Cope with the Loss of a Baby

by hilary of hilsblog.com

my darling friend, hilary has been an angel to us while dealing with this miscarriage. she has sent flowers, cooked meals and sent emails and text messages to let me know she's been thinking of us. it has made all the difference. sadly, the tragedy of losing a little one is all too familiar in her life. she has been an incredibly caring and empathetic friend to me. i have much to learn from her graceful example. i am so glad she was willing to share the insights from her experience.

"Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning." --Psalms 30:5

November 25, 2010 I gave birth to our stillborn son, Michael.  I was 21 1/2 weeks pregnant on Thanksgiving Day when the ultrasound confirmed we had lost him.  He had a heart defect known as Ebstein's Anomaly that caused his heart to swell, so much so that there was too much pressure for his little frame to handle.  

Losing Michael was the hardest thing I have ever had to go through (and am still going through) but it has opened my eyes to the pain so many women suffer from during the loss of a pregnancy, whether it be a miscarriage or a stillborn.  In writing this "how-to" I must first state that I do not in any way count myself as an "expert" in grief.  I do, however, feel that I learned a little bit about what it is and learned ways to get through such a trying time.  Second, I believe there is no step-by-step way to get through grief, these are just a few things that at least helped me during the hardest months of my life.

01. Do not blame yourself or allow yourself to have regrets.  I couldn't help but think maybe if I hadn't been so sick that first trimester and could have taken my prenatal vitamins more often then things would have worked out better.  Don't think those things.  This happened for a reason that was beyond your control.

02. Do not push your grief aside and save it for another day.  Grief is necessary in order to grow from the experience.  When you feel like crying, cry.  When you feel like doing nothing but sitting in your pj's all day and eating cookie dough, do it.  

03. Allow people to do things for you.  I'm one who is uncomfortable with people going out of their way to help me out.  If someone would ask to bring a meal or watch my Little Guy, I had to force myself to say "yes".  Realize that people want to help you through this grieving process and will offer to do what they are most comfortable doing.

04. Get on your knees.  Whether you are a religious person or not, prayer is truly the only way to find comfort during those times of emptiness, darkness and loneliness that will come.

05. Keep something tangible of the baby if possible, as a reminder of your pregnancy.  There will be a point that you may reach where you wonder if you ever really were pregnant, or if it was all just your imagination.  Having something tangible will help remind you of that special one that was inside of you.

06. Treasure the memories of your pregnancy.  Try to remember the happy times (hearing the heartbeat, seeing the little one on an ultrasound, feeling kicks, etc.) and the positive, loving feelings you have for your baby.

07. Don't forget about the other half who is most likely suffering just as much as you are inside.  Remember your husband went through the loss as well.  Don't be offended if he grieves differently then you and heads back to work sooner than you would.  Everyone handles grief differently, and in many cases the husband feels like his only way to get through is to keep moving forward.

08. Find a way to facilitate your emotional recovery.  Whether it is pampering yourself, finding a support system, writing in a journal or helping other women through similar situations, it is good to find something that will help you through the grief.  I chose to write about Michael's story on my blog, and it has been a huge emotional release and aided me in my grieving process.

09. Be prepared for mostly bad days there at the beginning, but be sure to keep in mind that there will be good days again.  They will show up sporadically at first, but gradually will come more often than the bad.  

10. Remember that things will get better.  Be patient and continue on with hope.

As for those who know of someone who has lost a pregnancy or baby, here are some things you can do to help.

01. Acknowledge the fact that there was actually a baby.  To women who experience a miscarriage or stillborn (even in the very early weeks) to them it is nothing less than experiencing the death of a child.  Remember and care for that baby when talking to the parents.  In other words, do not ignore the loss. 

02. Realize that actions often speak louder than words.  Even if you have been through a similar experience yourself, you cannot just assume you know exactly what that person is going through.  Everyone grieves differently and it is important to remember that.  Instead of saying things like "I know just how you feel" or "You can always get pregnant again" bring them a meal or offer to clean their house, watch their kids... this will be much more helpful than trying to find the right things to say.

03. Don't try to rush them through the grieving process if you feel like they are taking too long to "move forward".  There is no set time limit for grief.  Be patient with them and just be there for them when they need you.

04. Even if the situation makes you uncomfortable, try not to avoid those who are grieving.  Now is the time when they need you the most. 

05. Never ever compare their experience to one that you have had or to someone else you know of.  Hearing "Oh, well I know a woman who went to full term and lost her baby" to someone who lost their baby in the first few weeks of pregnancy will not make them feel better about their situation.  If anything it will only be received as you trying to minimize their loss.

06. When in doubt, ask them what you can do to help.  It may be that all they need is a listening ear or a moment of peace.  

A wonderful book that helped me through my loss was called Gone Too Soon: The Life and Loss of Infants and Unborn Children by Sherri Devashrayee Wittwer.  I completely recommend this book to anyone who has either gone through a similar experience or knows someone who has.  

thank you, hilary, for sharing your heartfelt advice.

add to marta's collection :: the how-to series was created to encourage confidence in creativity. to focus on what we can do rather than what we can't. i am excited to showcase your talents and unique ideas. if you have a specialty (and i know you do), please submit your how-to guest post by emailing me. marta{at}martawrites{dot}com. i will be delighted to feature your how-to.

"Do not let what you cannot do interfere with what you can do." - John Wooden

thanks in all things

a thousand thanks to you.

we had a mini vacation this past weekend to sun valley, idaho. it is a tradition to enjoy the sunshine up there every summer and it was a perfect time to get away for awhile. i am learning more and more that the quiet moments are the best in which i can really listen to the spirit. to appreciate what i've been given and attempt to cope with change. my life is full of busy lists and playing and napping and working and chopping fruit and doing dishes and folding laundry and enjoying company; i am going through the motions so often that i don't just give myself moments to be still. to breathe. and to learn the lessons i should be learning. it was on a quiet country drive that benji and i took a week ago when i knew i should write down my feelings. and perhaps, even share them.

i wrote and re-wrote my thoughts about my miscarriage and wondered if i should indeed post them. being vulnerable is nothing if not completely scary. but i still believe it is a good thing to exchange personal experiences. to open yourself up. it gives you an opportunity to connect with others. easier said then done. i even let dan read my essay beforehand. thank goodness for a go-to guy. i was afraid it would not be appropriate or simply too sad. he encouraged me. after talking myself in and out of it, i decided to pre-schedule the post for sunday, while i was still unplugged in sun valley. that way i couldn't undo it at the last minute.

we enjoyed ourselves. gorgeous surroundings, cute little gift shops, some swimming, some biking and hiking, bare feet in the park, chocolates on our pillows, the sunshine glimmering over the duck pond, sandwiches on rye bread, belgium waffles with whipped cream, listening to books on tape (literally, we still have a tape deck in our car). while driving home i saw rainbows form in the sprinklers along the farmlands. my little boy was carefree and cozy, sleeping in the backseat and my husband was handsome, strong and steady at the wheel. thanks in all things.

we came home from our roadtrip to find your heartfelt comments and kind words waiting in my inbox. wow. it really does heal my heart to read your thoughtful notes. like a huge group hug. thank you for opening up and sharing yourselves with me. it makes this whole blogging thing that much more incredible. everyone who has been so caring has taught me about love. the thing i have learned from this experience is that i wish i had been more caring, more understanding, more loving, more thoughtful to those who have dealt with difficulty and struggles in the past. i've promised myself to be better. i was never one to know what to say and therefore i would usually remain silent. i thought it would be awkward if i brought up the subject or would make them cry if i reminded them. now i realize all one needs is a hug, a loving note, any small gesture to say i'm thinking of you. i suddenly see that you don't have to have the right words to make someone feel a little bit better. usually those who hug the tightest are those who understand what sadness feels like and will mourn with you. right beside you. in these moments, i am learning so much.

today's quote of the day email came from realsimple.com. it seems to fit perfectly in this pocket of time. "The most important thing in life is to learn how to give out love, and to let it come in." 
- morrie schwartz

stay tuned. vacation photos and awesome how-to's are all lined up for this week. xo.

unnamed

i have been intentionally moving forward with my blog to feel normal again–to gear my routine back into speed–after our traumatic event. unintentionally leaving most of you in the dark about why i was so blue a few weeks ago. thank you for being so caring and patient. the truth is, i haven't felt like writing about it. while simultaneously feeling like i must put the pen to the page and write about my experience before i forget the details. forgetfulness is my weakness. i am pulled in separate directions when it comes to expressing myself. like right now, i wonder if the blog is the best place to put my feelings and yet i feel i must put my experience out there. i hadn't yet publicly announced that we were expecting baby number two, so it might've been easier to churn forward without saying a word. but that would've felt completely artificial to me. i want to share my personal story because it matters. i never thought i'd be dealing with this. i wish i had more resources to turn to; more kindred spirits with similar stories. now i realize, many of you have gone through this too and have written me words of comfort. like the time i was suddenly having an unplanned c-section to deliver my first born, certain situations come into your life without any preparation or forethought. i hope i can help someone in a similar situation to not feel so alone. thank you for your understanding as i stumble through this humbling experience and unfold the aftermath of our loss.

like any story, this one has a thousand more pages that i cannot yet read. the pages seem to be folded tightly against each other and i leaf through them slowly, only to find a new lump in my throat at each fold. i am beginning to understand how something so small can be greater than the sum of its parts. i share bits of this story because i feel i cannot not share this story. i want to remember this and document it. the only thing i crave right now is to remember that little heartbeat; to honor its existence.

a few months ago we collected seashells from the shores of california and brought them home to benji's little cousins. the excited children surrounded us and we unwrapped shells one by one, explaining there was one shell for each child. bewildered, someone noticed there was one extra seashell. smiling with our secret, we told my family that we had great expectations and a happy announcement. a new baby would be joining our family! a new cousin in the club. a new sibling for benji. a new soul of sunshine.

the familiar anticipation filled our lives. the dog-eared pregnancy books piled on the nightstand, doctor appointments lined up, lists of baby names on random slips of paper, week-to-week emails calculating the baby's development, a checklist of healthy foods pinned to the fridge, and unearthed maternity clothes from storage boxes. everyone i saw seemed to be pregnant too. even in the blogging world. i was delighted to be in the club. i wondered how it would be to have two tiny ones in our home. i wondered how benji would like having a bundled up baby join our family in early december. i wondered how i could be a good mama to him and multiply my love adequately for a new member of the family. we felt so blessed. i could just imagine that holding this new baby would warm up our winter perfectly. i dreamt of the new addition and loved knowing a little angel was growing inside me.

dan and i held hands through the first ultrasound as we saw our little babe. the baby squirmed and wiggled. the doctor said the heartbeat sounded strong and all looked perfectly normal. we decided early on that we would wait and be surprised; i wondered aloud if i'd be able resist and really wait the nine months to find out the gender. i thought it would be like an early christmas surprise to hear the doctor shout out what it was. we hung that first ultrasound photo up and celebrated with scoops of ice cream in ramekins that night.

at sixteen weeks along, symptoms suddenly arose and i felt something was not quite right. the doctor did not seem too worried; still he scheduled me in for an appointment the next day. i cried myself to sleep that night. after an agonizing wait in the waiting room–full of glowing mothers-to-be–i knew deep down that we had lost the baby. i hoped and prayed i was wrong. i worried that i was being so terribly pessimistic. it is not like me to prepare for the worst. it is not like me to feel that things are not as they should be. i prayed our baby would still be healthy, strong and on its way. the second ultrasound showed no fluttering heartbeat, no movement. i knew. and i cried. and cried and cried. at this point, it started to seem like a nightmare, one of those dreams you try to wake yourself up from. terms like fetus demised and massive hemorrhage were used to describe what was once living and growing inside of me. my whole body hurt with sadness. i didn't want it to be true. all our planning and excitement and giddiness was shattered. i felt empty and horrible inside. i wanted to curl up in a cave and hibernate.

my kind doctor attempted to comfort me; telling me it was nothing i did to cause this loss. he explained how common miscarriages are, giving me percentages of pregnancies that never reach full term. what i was feeling was anything but common. i felt like a failure. my doctor was surely trying to give me a glimmer of hope, but i was simply horrified that this was what common felt like. my mind filtered through all the women i'd ever heard about who'd suffered a loss like mine. dozens of names came to mind including my mom, my grandma, friends, co-workers and others close to me. if only i had known what they'd gone through. i was now apart of another club. a club of women who suffer silently through the difficulties of miscarriage. miscarriage. the word sounds so ordinary, so over-used, so absolutely opposite to the pain and tragedy of the event itself. the word holds nothing of the sadness i feel. i guess that's just it; when people say they have no words, they really mean it. because no words can begin to describe the complexities of emotion during a time like this. for the next several days, i just wanted to wake up. i am slowly facing the realities of the situation, but i still wish that we were on the sunny side. i wish i were still pregnant and having a baby before christmas. i wish i was feeling kicks and acrobatics from the inside. i wish i could know the unknown and tell myself everything will work out. i am realizing that having real faith takes more work than i once knew. i walked out of the waiting room full of expecting mothers. i was no longer one of them.

when something sad hits you, you are never quite prepared. sad events have occurred previously in my life, yet still i feel nothing can prepare you for another sadness to hit. a fresh wound still bleeds. no one gave me a manual to miscarriage. no one could tell me of the toll it would take on my body, or the ache in my soul, or the sad look in my husband's eyes. no one prepared me for the weight of worry while i was in the waiting room that day. no one prepared me for the reminders around every corner that yank at the heartstrings with whisperings of loss. and no one prepared me for what was still to come.

i needed people more than i once thought i might. surprisingly, i was eager to talk and express my feelings. however much i wanted to deny the truth, saying it aloud helped me face the reality of our loss. my closest relatives and friends dropped what they were doing to listen to me and cry with me. these are the moments and the people you are forever thankful for. their hearts were open and they seemed to let me climb right in, giving me precious encouragement and advice. they soaked in my emotions and made me feel alright about being so sad. a part of me felt silly about being so emotional and dramatic after such a seemingly common experience. my sisters advised me to be sad for awhile, to not force myself to be happy for others, to be okay with feeling the deepness of my loss. i am still thinking of their words as my tilted hormones, sadness and tears come and go, as if keeping a strict schedule of ups and downs.

a couple of days later, what was once just awful news turned into something very real. after major labor pains, my water broke and the bad got worse. i'll spare you the details. (keep in mind, not every miscarriage has to be a medical emergency. my advice is to get to the hospital sooner than later.) soon, but not soon enough, it was all over. it is unbelievably sad to be wheeled past the nursery windows at the hospital with no baby. i look back on those few days and they are stacked with intense sadness.

throughout the ordeal, my burdens felt heavier than i could handle. but i have always known that God does not give us challenges without accompanying it with adequate strength to bear it. this was another opportunity to lean on the truths i so deeply believe in. i know God has a plan for us. i know He loves me. i know He understands my potential, my strength and the work i am to do in this life. these challenges and trials will whittle me into who i need to become. if only i will trust in Him and keep on doing the right thing, i know he will guide me into greener fields. i know He will lead me, guide me, walk beside me when there is rough terrain ahead. i'll never forget waking up the next morning; a day that i was fearful to face. that miraculous morning i woke up with a new sense of peace. my insides felt quiet instead of empty. my heart felt full instead of broken. i felt blessed instead of bruised. i know God sent me comfort and stillness to remind me of His infinite wisdom and love.

i am richly blessed with caring individuals surrounding me. so many have reached out and have been incredibly thoughtful. dan has been endlessly loving and helpful and amazing throughout the entire ordeal. i realize this loss is great in our lives but small compared to trials others experience. my eyes are starting to open, and i have had a small peek at what grief feels like. i feel so deeply for those who deal with ongoing trials or suffer from losing a loved one. i am in awe of those who still manage to see the sunshine through their grey-skied challenges. i am inspired by them. i am striving to move forward with more love in my heart and greater understanding and empathy. i know with trial comes knowledge, strength, sympathy, renewed gratitude and a deeper trust in God.

july 13. 2010
marta dansie