Boogers on the Wall

I called my son by the wrong name the other night. Which really isn’t a big deal for most parents. I honestly do it all the time with my oldest two boys. But I called my newborn son “Luca,” the name of my baby who passed away two years ago.

It really made me stop and think.

Having a rainbow baby has brought me so much joy, so much peace. Yet in a very small, strange way, it has also made me miss my angel son even more.

Taking care of our new baby has reminded me of some of the things I have missed not being able to raise my third son.

I never bathed him, never fed him, never patted his back to burp him or changed his stinky diaper. And I hate that I never locked eyes with him or saw him smile.

I’ve been reminded lately that I will never be able to replace my little Luca. Nor do I want to.

Deep down I will always wish I had him here, no matter how happy I have become. No matter how much healing I have experienced. No matter how many babies I have after him.

Sometimes after a dark, cold storm, when the rain is done chilling you to the bone, when the wind is done taking your breath away, when the clouds disperse and the sky reappears, a burst of light shines from the heavens and colors bow over the earth.

And although you still feel dampness in the air, the rainbow’s color fills you with light and hope.

Last week I caught the first glimpse of my rainbow. After 9 very long months, my rainbow baby boy was born July 3. And he is beautiful.

The past couple of years have been filled with storms for my family and me. The rains started pouring April 22, 2010 when I delivered my third son stillborn.

At times during the past 2 years I have felt like a hurricane has swarmed around my house, like I was drowning in my trials. And no matter what I did I couldn’t shake the storm.

But now I feel like I am basking in the sunlight. For some reason, things have taken a turn for the better for me.

Some of you who have read my blog in the past know that it was difficult for me to get pregnant this time around. And still after a year of trying I was not only thrilled, but terrified that a new life was inside me.

This pregnancy was probably my easiest one physically. Aside from the usual heartburn and joint pain, I was actually quite comfortable.

But mentally I thought I was going to go crazy – especially the last month. I don’t know how many times a day I would do the 10-movements-in-2-hours kick count. I knew that if something went wrong, I would be the first to know and that stressed me right out.

At my 37-week appointment my doctor said he would be willing to induce my labor early, as long as my body was ready. I keep praying it would be ready. At 38 weeks I was dilated to a 1 and 50 percent effaced. That was enough to schedule the induction.

I hardly slept the night before I was so excited and anxious. My boys were excited too. They woke up at 5:30 in the morning.

Our dark-haired, chubby-cheeked little guy came just after 2 in the afternoon and I have never been so happy to hear a tiny baby cry. He was a week early, but was still a good 7 pounds 6 ounces.

And as much as I love our new little addition, his brothers may have me beat. I have never seen two little boys swarm around a baby like my oldest two boys swarm around our newborn. They are enamored by him and want to be right next to him all of the time.

The past week and a half has felt like a dream. I still can’t believe our baby is real, and that we got to bring him home.

I am sure there will be times when my storm will return, for I’ll never forget, nor ever be able to replace the beautiful baby I buried 2 years ago. And I will always feel saddened that my husband and I will never have all of our children together.

But for now I am going to bask in the colors of my rainbow and soak in his glow.

I think Courtney said it perfectly on babycenter.org:

“Rainbow Babies” is the understanding that the beauty of a rainbow does not negate the ravages of the storm. When a rainbow appears, it doesn’t mean the storm never happened or that the family is not still dealing with its aftermath. What it means is that something beautiful and full of light has appeared in the midst of the darkness and clouds. Storm clouds may still hover but the rainbow provides a counterbalance of color, energy and hope.

I am less than a month from my due date and feeling a little overwhelmed.

At times anxiety threatens to take over my every though and action. Other times the thought of actually bringing home a little baby boy stresses me to the max.

I have only written a few times during the past 37 weeks about what it has been like to carry a life after the last one I carried died. It is terrifying, exciting, hope inspiring, and stressful to say the least.

There are times when I feel absolutely fine. Almost like I am not even pregnant. I think my mind has naturally slightly detached itself from the baby my body is carrying. It has kept a safe distance – in order to protect itself in case of another tragedy.

A lot of times when I think about bringing a baby to my house I don’t even know what to do.  I can’t wrap my mind around that. It has been a long time since I have nursed or diapered a little one. I have major feelings of inadequacy.

I don’t even know if I am ready to care for this baby.

There’s a small closet in my bathroom that is stocked chuck full of diapers, wipes, toiletries and other baby essentials. I am pretty sure I have everything you could possibly need or want for this baby. But that doesn’t mean I have it all out.

I bought a new dresser and filled it with clothes, but everything else is at bay. Until I bring my little bundle of joy home, I will not get out the car seat or stroller and you better believe I will not set up the bassinet or crib.

Those were the hardest things to take down after Luca died.

My mother-in-law bought me the cutest new diaper bag. I have halfway filled it. I know I should get it ready, in case there is a moment of panic, but I just can’t – yet.

There have been times during the past 8 months when I am sure my baby is going to die. The fact that I am the first one who will know if he stops moving has almost been too much to bear.

He is particularly still in the morning. But no matter how many times I tell myself that is normal for him, I still end up lying in fear on my side in my bed waiting, worrying.

There are times throughout the day when I try to remember the last time he moved. Sometimes I’ll stop everything I am doing and sit still on my couch for a long while until I feel him kick or wiggle.

If only he could move and squirm all of the time. Although it may be unsettling, at least I would know he is alive.

I am anywhere between 36-38 weeks pregnant – depending how you count. That means I have anywhere between 2-4 weeks to wait. Yet another reason why this control freak is stressing. Add my weekly shots that I was taking to stop my body from going into premature labor, and I have no idea when the little one will arrive.

Thank heavens the natural nesting instinct has kicked in, keeping me busy cleaning every nook and cranny in my home. It might be driving my husband crazy, but it helps with my anxiety and allows me to feel in control of something.

But I am running out of nooks and crannies. Hopefully I deliver soon. The anticipation is killing me.

Sometimes I want to scream out loud, “Am I really going to have a baby?” It still hasn’t sunk in.

At this point I know I am going to HAVE to deliver, but will I get to HAVE my baby?

I know of six different women who live within a half a mile from my home who are pregnant – and that’s not counting me. Not only is there something in my neighborhood’s water, it feels like dozens of my Facebook friends are expecting.

So needless to say I have heard a lot of excited “I’m-going-to-have-a-baby!” type announcements in the past several months.

The problem is, when someone tells me the news there’s an awkward pregnant pause.

Not because there’s a silent break that may lead to the “birth” of a grand announcement, like the pregnant-pause definition suggests, but because when someone tells me they are pregnant, I literally pause.

I have absolutely nothing to say. No words of encouragement or support. No, “I am so happy for you,” and “That is so exciting” phrases seem sincere.

And somehow phrases like, “Good luck,” “I hope your baby is OK,” and “Seriously?” don’t seem situational appropriate.

I feel horrible and yet I don’t know how to change. I’m afraid I have become the sharp pin that bursts every excited mother-to-be’s bubble.

But how can I be thrilled about something that brought me such horrible pain and sorrow? I cross my fingers and pray each day that no one I know will have pregnancy complications. But it still scares me to death.

I guess I am still working through my grief and the anxiety it has forced into my life.

I’m hoping that a safe delivery of my unborn son this summer will reclaim my enthusiasm in childbearing.

Until then, I am sure I’ll give birth to a lot more pauses.

I have had a few different reactions from people when I tell them I am expecting. Several people have told me that they hope I have a girl.

I have my 16-week appointment today and may actually find out if I’m carrying a boy or girl.

But honestly I don’t care what I have. I feel bad because last week I snapped at someone when they said they were hoping I got a girl. I told them, “Well, I just hope I get something.”

That’s the cold hard truth. I don’t care if I’m carrying a boy or a girl. I just want to be able to bring it home to sleep in its bassinet next to my bed at night.

But I wouldn’t be completely honest with myself if I didn’t admit that there are two main reasons why having a girl would ease my mind. (Notice I said “ease my mind” not “make me happy.”)

Neither of those reasons has anything to do with the fact that I have never hairbowed or ponytailed my offspring. Heaven knows I love playing with my boys.  And I can draw on a pretty mean pirate mustache and sew a great bowtie.

But I have already had some nervous, anxious moments during my pregnancy. For some reason as I get further along, I feel like having a girl may ease my chances of completely succumbing to Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. I guess in my mind a gender change would make things seem a lot more different therefore lessening my chances of a repeat stillbirth. It makes no sense I know, but I’m not of a sound mind these days.

What will I do if it is a boy? Probably worry day and night like I am already doing. I have made some other changes this pregnancy. Hopefully a new doctor and new hospital to deliver in will make things seem different enough.

But there’s another reason a girl baby may ease my mind.

We watch the movie “Hook” a lot at our house. There is a scene toward the end of the show that has been haunting me lately. Peter Pan goes back to check on his mother several years after he left her for Neverland. He flies to her window and sees her with a new baby.

She is very happy, as a new mother should be, but Peter takes that to mean that she has forgotten about him. That he has been replaced.

My heart would break if somewhere in the heavens Luca would ever think that he has been replaced. I can never fix the hole his death left in my heart. I am pretty sure I will live my whole life wondering what things would be like if he had lived. I will probably always watch kids who were born his same year and dream of him doing what they are doing.

I don’t know why, but the thought of having a girl lessens my worry of him feeling replaced. My husband and I have always wanted several children. Losing Luca hasn’t changed that. Had Luca lived I may have been trying for my fourth by now anyway.

I know a lot of this sounds crazy. Boy or girl, above all, I just hope that my baby is healthy and born kicking and screaming.

And If it is a boy, I just have to hope that the Lost Boys will keep Luca company until I can find my happy thought and find the strength to fly to the “Second star to the right and straight on ‘til morning.”