My Angel’s Story

21 Apr 2011 12 Comments

by Natalie in Dealing with Death, My Angel Baby Tags: , , , , ,


I was tired, I was huge and I was ready to have my baby boy. But not ready for the way it would all turn out. I would have happily carried him weeks beyond my due date if it meant he had a chance of being born alive.

Honestly? I wasn’t quite ready for a third child. I always wanted my kids close in age, but my two boys, ages 3 and 1, were a lot to handle. I was okay with waiting a while. But both my husband and I had strong impressions that we needed to try for another baby.

Despite those impressions, I was still extremely nervous about how I could be a good mom to three boys under the age of 3. Each day I grew, not only in circumference, but also in my confidence in being able to raise three tiny sprits.

On April 21, 2010 I had my 37-week check-up. Luca’s movement had been slowing down significantly for a while now and I was worried. I discussed my concerns with my doctor and we listened to his heartbeat, which appeared to be strong. So, my doctor and I decided that maybe little Luca was running out of room in my overcrowded womb.

The beginning of my pregnancy was a piece of cake. I felt better than I had with my other pregnancies and had virtually no morning sickness. But the end was pretty bad. I kept having sharp pains in my side and my muscles were aching.

Fearing the worst

My mother-in-law kept my other two boys while I went to my appointment so I decided to lie down and take a nap until she brought them home. That’s when I started panicking because I couldn’t remember the last time I felt Luca move.

I know what some of you are thinking? Why didn’t you rush to the hospital??? Knowing what I know now, my advice to any pregnant woman who is the least bit concerned about her baby, would be, GET TO THE HOSPTIAL, NOW. Speed if you have to. What are they going to do? Tell you your baby’s fine and send you home? Hopefully. Laugh in your face about your unnecessary worries? Never. In all reality, even if I had been in labor and delivery when Luca’s heart stopped beating, they still wouldn’t have been able to save him. There wasn’t anything I could have done. I realize that now. But there are other reasons why babies stop moving. In my opinion it’s just better to get it checked out as soon as possible.

I literally worried all night about my Luca’s movement. I think the strong feelings and confirmations I had received that I was supposed to have another baby kept me waiting for his little legs to kick or his fists to punch. Luca’s pregnancy was my only pregnancy I haven’t run into problems conceiving. I thought that was a sure sign that this truly was meant to be. It was meant to be, just not in the way I hoped or expected.

I waited, and waited for him to move. Finally at about 2:30 a.m. I couldn’t take it any longer. I got up and sat in the bathtub for a long time. Travis came in and convinced me to go to the hospital. My mom came over to sit with my boys so we could run up to the hospital. When I got there, they hooked me up to a monitor and we found the baby’s heartbeat. Well, at least we thought we did — turns out the sound of my own heartbeat was reverberating back. We didn’t know that for sure until they hooked me up to a basic ultra sound machine and zoomed in on the heart. I knew immediately that my son had died. I looked at my husband and he knew it too. We had seen a number of live, beating hearts in ultrasounds. This one was still.

But the nurses said nothing. They tried to remain calm as they called my doctor and asked him to come in. He arrived at about 4 a.m. to confirm my baby’s death. We all cried — nurses included. He told me I could go home and come back later to deliver my baby or he could induce me right away.

The thought of leaving the hospital knowing that I was carrying my dead child made me cringe. I knew that having a stillborn was going to be the worst thing I had ever experienced. Delaying it wouldn’t change anything. They wheeled me into a corner room and posted a grieving sign on the door.

Shortly thereafter we started calling family members to let them know they were going to have to come in sometime that day to simultaneously tell Luca “hello” and “goodbye.”

Sharing the Heart-Breaking News

My poor mother. She was the first to hear of his death. And she had to take the news while watching over my other two little ones in my quiet, lonely home. I can’t imagine how alone she must have felt. She texted me a while after I called to tell her he had died, asking what she should tell my other boys when they woke up. That literally broke my heart. What did I want her to tell them?

We didn’t want to tell him that their brother was “sleeping” or that he was “gone.” We decided to tell them the truth. That he had died. They were sad, but their grief was expressed differently than an adult. They didn’t cry much but they did throw more tantrums and asked to be held a lot more.

Telling people and hearing their reactions was one of the hardest things for me. I could handle the pain that I was going to have to bear, but having to inflict some of that pain on others made me so sad. It still makes me sad.

Our family members started gathering at the hospital and at our home waiting for the time when they would meet Luca. I knew we would only ever have a few hours with him and so I prepared to face my nightmare with a smile on my face. This was the only time I was going to hold my baby. The only time I could take pictures of his beautiful face. I wasn’t going to let my grief overcome my ability to make the moments meaningful.

I don’t know if it’s all in my head, but I don’t think I had the full power of my epidural during his delivery. It was by far my most painful delivery. Not only emotionally, but physically. Maybe that’s because I didn’t have the anticipation of meeting my healthy baby to pull me through. With each painful push, I knew I was a step closer to meeting a baby I wouldn’t take home. I’ll never forget the shock in my doctor and nurses voices and faces as Luca was born. They all gasped in unison. He had suffered a cord accident that was visible the moment he was delivered. The cord was wrapped around his neck several times and it contained a true knot. Umbilical cord knots are extremely rare and knots resulting in a baby’s death are even more rare. Although I will never be grateful for what happened to my son, there is something I am extremely grateful for: The fact that we found out why he died.

He was born at 5:13 p.m. and weighed 5 pounds 13 ounces. He was beautiful with curly reddish brown hair and rosy red cheeks. We each took turns holding him and taking pictures. Utah Share came and casted molds of his hands and feet. Pat Wimpee came and took dozens of priceless photos of him and our family. I don’t know what I’d do without those photos. I think I would forget the details of his face. The wrinkles of his toes. The size of his tiny fingers. At times I stared at his little body, waiting for his chest to rise or his eyes to open. He literally was perfect.

We had Luca in our hospital room for five short hours. My legs were still numb from my epidural, so I was forced to watch everyone’s encounters with him from the comfort of my hospital bed. That was really hard for me. I wanted to hug and comfort everyone and yet I was stuck on the sidelines. I am sure that those who came to the hospital to meet him will forever be changed. There was such a special spirit in the room. It was a terribly sad, yet wonderfully peaceful experience.

The next several days were a blur. I left the hospital on a Friday morning. That afternoon I sat in the mortuary office preparing a funeral. We had a very small service on Monday, just four days after I delivered. Thank heavens for pain medications. Without those my traditional delivery pains coupled with the pain of my milk coming in, would have been unbearable. I buried my baby and part of my heart on April 26, 2010.

How am I dealing with his death?

I believe, as my religion teaches, that I will raise little Luca someday. Sometimes that thought brings great comfort, other times it is little solace for a grieving mother who longs to hold her angel infant now. Although he is in a better place, free from sorrow and sin, I wanted the challenge of raising him in this crazy world. Wanted to see him wrestle with his older brothers or hear him giggle as the three of them cooked up mischief. I hate that we don’t get to have him now.

I have experienced all of the traditional grief stages at least once. I have felt depressed, angry, honored, jealous, comforted, tired, rude, bitter, overwhelmed, out of control, anxious, stressed and unmotivated. There have been times I have sat on my couch, not wanting to do anything. Then other times that I feel an urgency to give back to others in honor of my son’s memory. I have yet to find a happy medium. I have heard people say that the first year is the hardest. I pray that’s true.

This past year has literally been the year from hell. Yet despite the darkness I have felt, there are a few things that have relieved my sorrows.

What do I do when the grief is too much to bear?

I take long soaks in the bathtub where I blast Pink on my radio and cry until my eyes are strawberry red.
I watch movies like Tangled and sob when I see Rapunzel reunited with her parents. I wish I only had to wait 18 years to meet my “lost” baby.
I take my boys fishing. Fresh air and the beauty of nature clear my head and remind me of my place in the world.
I lay by my other boys while they are sleeping. I put my hand on their chest to feel their heart beating and their lungs filling with air. That reminds me of the beautiful boys I do get to raise on Earth. I can’t let myself take them for granted.
I start finding something I can do for others. I know it sounds cheesy, but serving others has been my saving grace this month. I have sewn 20 baby blankets and crocheted a dozen beanies to give to other families whose babies die. I understand the need to be still and internalize my grief and emotions, but sometimes it’s overwhelming. I have to find a productive way to patch over my grief until my emotions settle and I’m able to digest them.
Finally, I write through my heartache. Writing has always been a way for me to work through life’s problems. I imagine I’ll write through this problem my entire life.
I just have to keep reminding myself that life is hard, life is good and life is necessary.

Reading Babies???

14 Apr 2011 9 Comments

by Natalie in What's a mom to do?

Photo of Braxton Hill taken by Angie Hill.

 

Why on earth would you teach your 18-month-old baby to read? You don’t teach someone to run before they can walk, so why teach someone to read before they can talk?

There is a commercial on my children’s favorite cartoon station for a learning program that claims it can teach any child to read. The commercial features a man showing an 18-month old flash cards with words on them like “foot.” The baby then points to her foot, demonstrating that she knows how to “read” that word. She can’t even talk. How can she “read”?

A doctor created the reading program for his daughter. But now it’s gone viral, penetrating every half-hour cartoon my children watch on this channel.

Seriously? So you teach your child to read before they are two. Then what? Do you force them into doing algebra by the time they are five? Are they speaking multiple languages at 10? Do they graduate from high school at 13? Enter college before they’ve hit puberty?

Don’t get me wrong I was ecstatic when my four-year-old read his first book a couple of months ago. He has now entered the exciting world of reading! A world I devote a lot of my time to. But the child is four, not 18 months.

I love my children. I want them to be smart. I want them to be successful. But I don’t want them to miss out on being children. There is a time and a season for all things.

Right now I want them to play in the mud looking for bugs. I want them to roll down the grassy hill in my back yard staining their knees. I want them to dump toys all over their bedroom floor in the name of fun. I even want them to pick their nose – as long as they don’t wipe boogers on my wall. That’s what kids do!

Sometimes I think we as parents worry that our children won’t be “smart” enough unless we invest in programs that push them intellectually. I think it’s important to encourage our children to learn and grow, but I don’t think we should force them to grow up too soon.

Personally I worry that if I shove learning down my kids’ throats I will prematurely catapult them from childhood. There will come a day when they are asked to turn in reading charts or meet reading-page quotas. For now we will have story time at our house on a regular basis, but I will do the reading.

Experiential Shopping

07 Apr 2011 2 Comments

by Natalie in Uncategorized Tags: ,

Dear craft-store employee,

Thank you for acting like a complete jerk when I asked you to help me find a simple jewelry-making item in your store. I am sure it was horribly rude for me to pull you away from setting up that amazing aisle display to see if you knew where a basic product was.

I really appreciated the way you looked at me like I was an alien recently landed from Mars. Oh, and I loved when you told me you “might” have what I was looking for and then turned back to your “work.”

I guess I can see a little bit where you are coming from. It must be hard to help customers when you have to focus on listening to that craft-store circuit radio headpiece. I bet it’s difficult for you to do that and hang up your aisle display at the same time.

I should never have interrupted. But I promise it won’t happen again.

My favorite part about our interaction was the why-in-the-world-did-you-bring-your-children-in-here? look you gave me. Do you seriously think I would have brought my 4- and 2-year-old boys into a crowded craft store to pick up one jewelry piece if I had a choice? Why in the heck do you think I was asking you to help me find something to begin with? I was hoping you would steer me in the right direction and I could avoid chasing my monsters down unnecessary aisles where the temptation to tear craft supplies from random shelves is uncontrollable.

Trust me it was in your best interest to help me, and help me quickly.

Maybe next time a busy mother comes in your store with two rowdy young children instead of looking at her with a rude, glazed-over stare and making her feel like a complete idiot you should put down your all-important “work,” check your pride at the door and actually muster up some customer service.

Sincerely,

Me
A former customer

My Artistic Son

31 Mar 2011 13 Comments

by Natalie in What's a mom to do? Tags: , , ,

This is a picture of him thinking about pirates and how much he loves them.

You’d be hard-pressed to find a naked piece of paper at my house. Nearly 99.9 percent of all pages in our home have at least one doodle somewhere across their surface – especially if they are notebook bound.

This is a bleeding shark. Notice the frame? Yes, we had to make it a paper frame.

You see my four-year-old son has transformed into a full-blown artist, drawing for hours each day on anything he can get his hands on.

It is also difficult to find a working pen at our house. That’s my son’s true medium of choice – pen and hand-held notebook. He’ll draw for hours with a small book in hand, ripping each page out and handing it to me when it is “finished.”

What’s wrong with him drawing so much? I love my little artist but it’s nearly impossible to get him to do anything when

This is a whale shark eating tiny fish or plankton.

He found out I loved unicorns and so he went through a unicorn phase.

he’s drawing. He tunes the world out and focuses on his work. Forget about him coming to dinner and you can kiss cleaning his room goodbye. He always seems to be “almost finished” with each picture when I ask him to come. It’s been a major frustration for me at our house lately.

Honestly I am glad that he has found something creative and inspiring that he enjoys – it beats throwing rock at windows,

chasing me with muddy worms or beating up his 2-year-old brother. Who knows, maybe in 10 years I will beg him to draw instead of getting into trouble as a mischievous teenager.

This is a tracing from a toy gun. Notice the heart. He told me that means he loves guns.

But there is another problem with his new hobby. I am running out of display room in my home for his finished pieces. Normally I hang them up for a few days on our crowded fridge front. Then I save some of my favorites and toss the rest. I wish I could save more but we’re talking about dozens of pages each day.

I bet if you pieced together each of his drawings end to end, they’d reach halfway to China – mostly because he refuses to draw on the “back” of pages. He has to have a clean, fresh canvas for his masterpieces.

These are humans being eaten by sharks. Notice the blood?

I worry that one of these days he’ll see some of his work in the trash and it will crush him. I also worry that I will regret getting rid of his work. Maybe one day he’ll be famous like Van Gogh or Monet and I’ll want to show off his early shark-dinosaur-monster period.

Seriously, it has been fun to look at his drawings from six months ago and see how much he has grown as an artist. He’s getting really good. I’m amazed at his creativity and attention to detail. I love that his drawings allow me to see what goes through his preschool mind.

I particularly love how he depicts me – normally with angry eyebrows. Maybe I should let up on him a little and be happy that he has found something innocent that he truly loves.

This is one of his pictures of me. Notice the angry eyebrows and teeth?

This is another one of my favorites.

This is one of my favorites. It's a cat.

This picture is of a whale and three hammerhead sharks.

Springtime Sorrows

24 Mar 2011 8 Comments

by Natalie in Dealing with Death, My Angel Baby Tags: , , , ,

Spring is here and I think I am having an emotional breakdown. My mind keeps drifting back to a year ago when I was excitedly awaiting the birth of my third son. With every day that passes it sinks in deeper that he’s never coming home.

It’s starting to hit me that I will deal with his death my entire life. It’s not just something that’s going to fade away.

Every time I see a pregnant woman I am going to worry a little for her baby’s well-being as well as envy her for the life she carries. When I see a tiny, newborn baby — alive and well — I’ll wonder what it would have been like to hold a healthy, happy Luca. And when I see a family with three or more kids in tow, I’ll think of what life would have been like with my third.

I feel stressed, nervous, anxious and physically ill when I remember how my perfect world turned to pure hell within a day’s time. I went from hearing my baby’s heartbeat at a routine doctor’s check up to delivering him stillborn within 24 short hours.

This spring is going to be a rough one. Ironically it’s the same time of year associated with new life and rebirth.

But I realize it’s all right if it’s rough. I need time to suffer through my sorrows. I’ve been through a tragic event that will forever change me and my outlook on life.

I saw an interview last week of a supermodel that survived the 2004 Tsunami in Indonesia. She survived but her boyfriend did not. A reporter asked her how long it takes to recover from an event like that. Her reply: You never fully recover.

I can relate to her grief. No, I didn’t experience a natural catastrophe of quite the same magnitude. But I did lose someone very close to me in a cruel and tragic way.
And I think she’s right. You never fully recover from something like that. Maybe you refer to it less frequently and tear up half as often, but the truth is, you have just learned how to better to conceal your broken heart.

A lot of times when interacting with others who have been through hard times, I think it makes all of us feel better to hear people say they have “recovered” from their tragedies. But I’m not sure we can ever fully recover. At least not me. Not yet.

Sleep, Why Do You Hate Me?

17 Mar 2011 4 Comments

by Natalie in Parenting Battles Tags: , ,

Whoever said we should “sleep like a baby” has never experienced a night with my two-year-old son. He has been a restless sleeper since the day he was born. If we all slept like him the world would be filled with walking zombies.

For the past week my son has woken up hollering three or four times a night. The first night I thought it was a horrible fluke. After night six I realized that he had developed a terrible habit that doesn’t make me, or my husband, very happy.

Normally he’ll just shout out in his sleep or bump into the wall and make a lot of ruckus that occasionally wakes me up.  But lately he has been waking all the way up crying for me to lie by him. It not only makes me frustrated, but it tears at my heartstrings. I’d love to cuddle to him and lay by him every night. But I know if I do that any hope that I have of him ever getting used to sleeping quietly on his own will be dashed. Also, he’d beat me up all night kicking and punching me while sleeping and I’d lose all chance of getting any rest myself.

The major problem is this: I am more emotional when I am tired. I am more scatter-brained when I am tired. And I am definitely more stressed out when I am tired. That is a triple combination no one wants to see exhibited in my character.

It’s not like this is our first sleeping battle with the little guy. He spent less time than anticipated in my bedside baby bassinet because he’d wake me up every 30 minutes with his moaning and groaning.  I had to banish him to the other room so that I could try to get a little rest. Luckily his older brother is a deep sleeper.

The kid talks in his sleep. He even sings in his sleep.  And worst of all he thrashes around in his sleep like a caged animal trying to break free. Sometimes I’ll wake up at night because I hear a thumping or rustling sound. I am sure an invader has busted through my kitchen door and is heading straight for my room to attack me. Then I listen closer and realize it’s just my 2-year-old wrestling in his covers.

One of the most annoying things about his sleepless nights is that although his tossing and turning keeps him, my husband and me up all night, he is the only one who gets to sleep in. My alarm still rings at 6 a.m. while he wanders out of his bedroom after 8 a.m. He also catches up on his missing Z’s during his daily two-hour afternoon nap.  Unfortunately my adult schedule doesn’t permit such a siesta.

On days filled with yawns and sleep-deprived irritations, I have to remind myself that I would rather wake up four times each night for his entire life than not have the opportunity to raise him at all. If that’s how it’s going to be I’ll accept it. It’s just hard to think rationally like that when I’m too tired to see straight.

My Vacuum Sucks

10 Mar 2011 4 Comments

by Natalie in Failed Housewife Tags: , , , ,

I refuse to buy a $3,000 vacuum. So I am forced to use a cheap Wal-Mart wannabe that literally sucks. I have had the worst luck with vacuums.

I started my marriage with a great Hoover my husband and I bought with some money from our wedding. It wasn’t the fancy, new bagless type, but it really sucked.

Unfortunately, it was shocked to death during a series of freak power surges in the fall of 2008. A faulty power line coming into our house was making our power surge and our lights strobe. Our washer and dryer also lost their lives during that ridiculous three-month fiasco.

I went cheap after that, buying a small machine for less than $20 at a day-after-Thanksgiving sale. As you can imagine, that didn’t last long.

This year at Black Friday I was too focused on Barbies and movies to snatch up the vacuum I wanted. Instead I found a small hand vac with a long handle extension stuffed in an aisle display while waiting in an extremely long checkout line. It was cheap but definitely not practical. It works great dust busting my kitchen floor but it doesn’t do my shaggy carpet justice.

So, a couple of months ago I invested a little less than $40 on a red Dirt Devil from Wal-Mart. After vacuuming my tiny living room and even tinier hallway, the stupid thing overheated. I didn’t know if it was because there was so much left over lint that the little hand vac couldn’t handle hiding in my shag, or if my new vacuum was going to overheat with every use.

I kept it and a week later it overheated again. I was too lazy to find my receipt, clean it out and take it back to the store. So now I do what I call “race vacuuming.” I prep my rooms — making sure I’m not going to accidentally suck up a toy gun or lizard or something — plug the vacuum in, and run. More often than not, I can vacuum my small upstairs before it overheats. If it does overheat before I’m done, I unplug it, wait 30 minutes then start vacuum racing again.

I don’t know how long I’m going to put up with this temperamental machine.

I had an amateur vacuum saleswoman spend two hours one night trying to sell me a $3,000 vacuum. Do I seriously have to spend that much to get a decent machine? I absolutely refuse to spend more on a vacuum than I did on one of my vehicles. You’d think for $3,000 it would do much more than just vacuum. Gosh for that much it better be able to prepare and cook my dinner too.

Maybe I’ll have to invest more than $40 on a decent sucking machine, but I’m not going near the $3,000 mark. For now, because I am cheap, I’ll stick with the race vacuuming. At least I’m getting a workout while cleaning.

Potty Mouths

03 Mar 2011 8 Comments

by Natalie in Parenting Battles Tags: , ,

Thank you Wall-E for showing my two young boys how funny it is to wear a bra on your forehead. I had to chase them down this morning and snatch away one of my most intimate clothing articles before I could get dressed.

Actually, they probably didn’t need a Disney movie to show them that was funny. They’ve been living in a world where farts, poop, burps, underwear, butts, butt cracks and other potty talk is hilarious, for awhile now. There isn’t a week that goes by that I don’t hear a poopy knock-knock joke or see one of their “moons.”

The problem with it is I am supposed to be a mature, respectful adult, yet sometimes I can’t help but bust up laughing at their potty language – especially when my 2-year-old screams something like “poop” during a reverent church meeting. It catches me off guard and I can’t help but chuckle.

Don’t get me wrong, I refuse to let them burp or fart without saying, “excuse me.” I actually hate those bodily functions. But there are times when they say something very random that makes me giggle.

The bad part about laughing when they are crude is then they think I like when they talk that way. So they do it more. It’s funny once. It’s not funny time after time -especially when it goes on for five minutes. That’s when I get mad and then they look at me like, “I thought you laughed at this kind of stuff.”

I don’t know the solution. I figure boys will be boys. They’re going to run around in their birthday suits when I’m trying to dress them screaming, “I’m naked.” They’re going to tell “hilarious” stories about ghosts who fart and burp. They are going to draw elaborate penciled sketches of the “poop monster.” That stuff is seriously funny to them.

I need to find a gentle way to teach them manners and what is appropriate without stifling their humorous creative minds. When I figure out how to do that I’ll let you know.

For now I’m going to look on the bright side, at least we don’t use cuss words at our house. There are lot of worse things that could be spouting from out of their potty mouths.

Coating My Son

24 Feb 2011 9 Comments

by Natalie in Parenting Battles Tags: ,

I’m convinced my 2-year-old is part reptile. That’s the only logical explanation. The little dude is never cold so he’s got to be adapting to his environment like a cold-blooded crocodile.

I don’t know how many times I have fought him this winter to put a coat on. Normally he’ll flop around on the living room floor like an oversized fish out of water while I yell at him and chase him around with his coat in my hands. He’ll scream, cry and arch his back so it’s virtually impossible to put his coat on.

He usually walks to the van in tears because I pinned him down and made him put it on. What am I supposed to do, let him freeze? I was particularly firm about his coat-wearing habits in December when he had a cold. I wasn’t about to let him make it worse just because he was being stubborn.

But sometimes my willpower is low and I have to admit that I have let him go to the grocery store, church or even out to eat coatless. You should see the looks I get from strangers as he shivers his way inside.  I know what they are thinking, “Buy that kid a coat for heaven’s sake!” I’m surprised no one has taken pity on us and slipped me a $20 as coat-investment money. Little do they know about the battle we undergo each time we leave the house.

Seriously, the child has a very nice winter coat and at least a dozen jackets he refuses to wear.

But winter weather attire isn’t the only warm protection my 2-year-old shuns. He’s been boycotting blankets and covers his entire life. He refuses to sleep with anything but pajamas covering his tiny body. Sometimes I try to cover him with blankets when I kiss him good night while he is sleeping. Then, only minutes later, I hear him thrashing through the sheets as he rolls out from under their imprisonment.

He must be a lot warmer than I am.

I know it is my obligation as a good parent to keep him safe and healthy, but how much do I infringe upon his freedom to insist that he does what I want?  I usually make him wear a coat, but I’m not about to straight jacket him into bed at night because I think he’s probably cold. Maybe he’s not.

Things are actually getting better as far as coat wearing goes. I recently convinced him, now that winter is almost over, that his basic tan coat is actually a hunting/army combination jacket. It has a large ranger badge on its side sleeve that helps validate my story. Sometimes now when I tell him we need to get our coats on he’ll scream, “I want my badge one!”

Now I know he’s not wearing it for the right reasons. He doesn’t care that it’s keeping him warm. He’s wearing it because the kid loves to dress up. He thinks he’s in costume and I’m okay with that.

We have a lot less fights than we used to. And that might lead to fewer glares from concerned, yet clueless, strangers about the welfare of my children.

Luckily, it’s almost spring.

Living with the Elephant

17 Feb 2011 18 Comments

by Natalie in Dealing with Death, My Angel Baby Tags: ,

If the topic of death makes you uncomfortable, skip this post and check back next week. If you do end up reading this post in its entirety you will probably smile at the irony of this warning.

I have a giant elephant in my living room. Unfortunately he doesn’t just stay there. My current elephant – the death and birth of my baby boy – haunts me wherever I go.

It finds me every time I meet someone new. They ask a simple, non-threatening question, “How many children do you have?” Then I coil back like someone just socked me in the stomach.

How many kids do I have? That’s an interesting question. The real answer – three. I have been blessed with three beautiful boys. But one of them is no longer with us. He was stillborn last spring.

That makes the answer more difficult to define. I never really know what to say to people.

I feel guilty saying I have three kids – especially to a mother I see wrestling three young children. I have three boys, but I definitely don’t have the responsibility of raising all three right now. I do not chase around a four-year-old, 2-year-old and a 10-month old.

Technically I only have two. But I will never forget my third, and heaven knows my body won’t either.

Yes I was pregnant for 37 weeks. Yes my ankles swelled up. Yes my back felt like it was going to break and my sciatic nerve sent jolts of pain down my thigh. Yes I fought my eyelids every afternoon as I sat on the couch with my three- and one-year -year-olds wondering how I was going to stay awake until 6 p.m. when dad got home. I was tired, I was sick to my stomach and I was dying to have a baby to bring home to make it all worth it.

But I was forced to come home empty-handed and brokenhearted.

So what to do?

My children aren’t afraid to talk about their brother. I’ve heard my four-year-old proudly exclaim that he has two brothers, but one’s in heaven. Then there’s my two-year-old. He’s always telling people his brother died and he wants to play with him.

If they aren’t embarrassed about their angel brother, why am I? Maybe it’s because I’ve seen several people shrink back horrified when I tell them my baby died.

It happened just last month when I went to renew our dinosaur park passes. I forgot that last year we listed “baby” on our pass because we didn’t know yet what we were having. This year when the worker updated my information she asked what our baby’s name was. When I told her he died she looked terrified, then replied something like, “That sucks, I’m sorry.”

Yeah, it does suck. And I’m glad that worker’s “sorry,” but it wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t my fault. It wasn’t even my poor baby’s fault. His death was out of all of our control.

Another awkward issue associated with my baby’s death is his birth-death reversal. Yes my child died before he was born. What does that mean? It means he has no birth or death certificate. Basically, he never existed.

But believe me he did. I felt him kick every time one of my piano students played an upbeat song. I felt him go crazy when I’d lie down to sleep — turning somersaults and handsprings in my womb.

I heard his heartbeat the day he died. He was alive, and he was mine.

For now I will probably continue to address the awkward elephant that tromps into my life almost daily. I will probably make people uncomfortable as I tell them I have three boys — two on earth and one in heaven.

But I can’t forget my third child – no matter how short his life was.

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