A personal story in serial, fourth installment

Yeah, there's more.  I told you there would be.  (Confused?  Read here, then here, then here.)

As I write, I realize that this is turning out to be a story about surprises.  Surprise that I was going to get pregnant with child #3 way ahead of schedule.  Surprise that the pregnancy only lasted a few weeks.  And, if my calculations are correct, there are two more surprises, which, to be perfectly honest, will probably seem rather anti-climatic, so please don't get your hopes up for an outrageous plot twist at the end.

I do not like surprises.  I don't adjust quickly to a change in plans.  I never respond well to the unexpected.  And a very early end to this pregnancy was totally unexpected.  In an effort to avoid being caught off guard, I worry.  As the worrier that I am, fears of miscarriage floated around quietly in the back of my mind during my previous pregnancies.  But this time I had completely, blissfully, forgotten to worry.  Shouldn't the fact that I was doing exactly what God told me be a pretty good insurance policy against anything going wrong?

Ready for the next surprise?

I did not experience a crisis of faith.  

I attribute this to the four thousand crises of faith I have previously had, through which I struggled and, apparently, from which I emerged stronger.  After miscarrying, I braced myself to feel betrayal, anger, and despair.  And I braced myself for a wrestling match with the question "Why?"  But, instead, I felt assured that the Lord was watching out for me, walking with me.  I trusted Him.  And I knew better than to ask, "Why?"  That doesn't get you anywhere.

But you know what?  It was still really hard.  Did you know that life can hurt really bad even when your faith is not wavering?  I'm not sure I did.  I guess I figured that if I allowed myself to be filled with God's love that life would not hurt.  I was wrong.  While I didn't feel despair, it wasn't all warm fuzzies either.

I found myself feeling things that, yes, seemed perhaps a little petty, but were prickly and uncomfortable.  Like annoyance.  (So I'd felt like crap for three weeks and developed first trimester acne for naught?  And what happened to my summer baby?)  And impatience.  (After six months of planning and preparing, I still wasn't even pregnant with the kid who was supposed to join our family?  I have to wait some more?)  And more impatience.  I think the only thing worse than surprises is waiting.  The prospect of still more waiting made me sick.

 

But more than anything, I felt disappointment.  The deepest, darkest disappointment.  The kind that leaves a twenty pound rock in your stomach.  The kind that's not there when the fog of sleep lifts and you have a hazy moment of the world being perfect until, boom, everything comes into focus and the rock returns, this time weighing forty pounds.  The kind of disappointment that leaves you incapacitated on the couch.  I tried to hide from the disappointment.  I hid under a blanket for three days, but it followed me there.  So I did what any busy mom would do.  I welcomed the disappointment into my heart, folded it up, tucked it away, and ignored it.  (Repression.  What would we do without it?)  It was time to get our Christmas celebrations under way.  Grief could wait; Santa couldn't.

There is one more surprise, but I'm itching to upload my pictures, so you will have to wait.  Remember what I said about not expecting anything exciting.  (In other words, I am not pregnant.)  But I will tell you this:  God spoke again.

Saturday afternoon at the Y

The boy and his noodle:

While her brother's face was all smiles, Mary ran for her life when she saw the water.  I guess she didn't read the sign about no running.
Checking out the water:
Those are her feet, submerged.  That's as far as she got.
She spent the rest of the time happily bundled in a towel, sitting on my lap, content to suck that pacifier and watch her brother have the time of his life.  Maybe next time (or the time after that...or the time after that), she'll join him.

A personal story in serial, third installment, with more to come

Then one day I wasn't pregnant anymore.  

(Did you see that coming?  I didn't.)

I knew what was happening right away.  But denial was easier first thing that morning.  Later in the day, when I had a few minutes to myself, I lay on the bed and tried to let the truth sink in.  I felt numb, my mind dark and foggy.  Then, like a bright light piercing the fog, a thought came into my head, almost as if a voice were speaking, "The chromosomes did not split properly."   

Now, I admit, mitosis isn't something that's frequently on my mind--I hadn't thought about chromosomes since Bio 100 freshman year.  So was this God talking again?  Maybe.  I guess I never thought about God's giving mini-lectures on embryogenesis gone wrong.  So I don't know.  But what I do know is that I felt simultaneously sad and comforted.  I knew I was having a miscarriage--there was no denying it--and that made me really sad.  But I also felt amazed, even comforted, by my body's ability to recognize so early on that life was not going to be possible this time.  

I was only five weeks pregnant.  So I was spared a medical event.  And spared from weeks and weeks more of believing that I was going to have a baby on a certain day next summer (because, of course, I had already calculated the due date) when I was wasn't.  And, I did not feel that a baby of mine had been lost, only the potential for one.  For those things I was grateful.  Very grateful.  But I was still sad.  Sad that the positive pregnancy test I'd pulled out of the trash--and the happiness I felt when I saw it--didn't mean anything anymore.

A personal story in serial, second installment

If you haven't already, you may want to read the first installment. 

The story (if it is a story...) continues:

After a dreary week spent on the couch reconciling myself to God's will (you never win trying to fight what God knows is best for you--I'm at least smart enough to know that), a miracle happened.  And I mean a real, bonafide, honest-to-goodness, water-to-wine miracle.  My dread (and that's what is was, pure and simple) turned to excitement.  Yes, I was going to be the woman at the store with a bratty preschooler, a sassy toddler, and a screaming newborn--and I was thrilled!  Talk about a mighty change of heart.  Suddenly, I could see the good things about having all of your children close together.  Plus, I did the math and realized how much younger I would be at the end of it all.  This change in opinion was so sudden and so complete that it could not have come from myself alone--further proof that this was God talking.

As the compulsive planner that I am, I got to work.  I cleaned out my closet of anything too skinny or not spit-up-proof, and, while I was in the closet reorganization business, I pulled out my maternity clothes.  I also began being very careful not to buy any new clothes that I would not be able to wear well into pregnancy...which, admittedly, was not difficult since I sport a uniform of yoga pants and a hoodie.  When I packed up Mary's baby things, I left the newborn items easily accessible.  I continued to work out regularly (okay, semi-regularly) but without the same motivation--that baby fat was coming back and soon.  I began steeling myself for yet another move/baby combination, and wondered if I would ever move without having a baby in the middle of it, or have a baby without moving in the middle of it.  I started to see the David & Mary show as something temporary, fleeting.  I mean, 2008 would be their only full year together, just the two of them.  I began cherishing more my time with them, the three of us rolling around on the floor together.  I cuddled Mary more, held her close, and wrote her long letters about how much I love her--she was soon to become the Forgotten Middle Child, right?

Greg and I began making decisions based on the fact that in a year we would have another child.  We took this new baby into account when making small decisions, like purchasing a new car seat, and big ones, like where Greg should submit his staff job applications (with a baby on the way, living closer to family seemed more attractive).  Greg called his brother Ben, who works for Toyota, to ask about family member discounts (aren't we lucky?!) since we were going to be in the market for a minivan.   When news of a family reunion next summer surfaced, we tried to be as noncommittal as possible, since, by our calculations I'd be having a baby smack dab in the middle of it.  

Soon enough (though not as soon as I had expected), it was time to open up the box of pregnancy tests.  After I waited the mandatory two minutes, nothing happened.  Nothing.  It wasn't positive or negative.  Disgusted, I tossed it in the trash.  Hours later, that afternoon, on a whim, I pulled it out.  It was positive!  And I was happy!  This was the first time I'd ever looked at a positive pregnancy test and felt happiness instead of fear.  (With David, I was scared of the unknown.  With Mary, I was scared of the known.)  It was, well, fun to be excited about the pregnancy.  I laughed out loud about how that positive pregnancy test had been sitting in the trash all day.  I immediately wrote a quick happy note in my journal and left a short happy message on Greg's phone.  That day I talked to both my mom and my sister-in-law Leslie, and it took every ounce of my self-control not to tell them, I was bursting with happiness.  (Maybe all those women I'd talked to over the years who had been outrageously happy to find out they were pregnant hadn't been faking it after all?)

I knew I only had a few weeks of feeling well, so I got to work on Christmas early--finishing projects, shopping, wrapping, mailing.  (Did you notice you got your Christmas cards before Christmas this year?)  I knew I couldn't afford to procrastinate.  Sure enough, I started to feel crummy.  Tired.  Nauseated.  It seemed like it was starting earlier this time, and it was worse in the evenings rather than mornings.  This was during the holidays, and I found myself in social situations where I couldn't eat any food, not even to be polite, for fear I'd wretch it back up right then and there.  I'm not one to tell people right away about being pregnant: I cherish the time when it's an intimate secret shared only between my husband and me.  Plus, I never know how to bring it up in conversation, so I tend to procrastinate sharing the news.  But it's never too long before people know.  So, soon enough, friends and family would know why I was dragging a little.

This is not the end, so hold off on your congratulations.  I sense two (maybe 3?) more installments, depending on the level of chaos in our house this weekend.  I will try to resist the temptation to post cute pictures of my kids instead of writing more, but I can't make any promises.  (My kids are just too dang cute!)  As for the moment, my kids will be waking up soon, and I have a shopping list to make.  

Humpty Dumpty

They just finished a nursery rhymes unit at David's preschool.  Here is what I have been hearing for three weeks now:

Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall,

Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.

All the loaders

and dump trucks

and cranes

and cement trucks*

couldn't put Humpty together again.

*Dad, I'm sure what he really means to say is "ready-mix concrete trucks."

A personal story in serial, first installment

I give up!  I have been trying to find more than 10 minutes of uninterrupted, guilt-free peace and quiet in order to gather my thoughts (and 25 random things does not count as "gathering my thoughts.")  But it ain't happenin'.  So we're going to do this Dickens-style, in installments, but I promise not to be as long as Bleak House. 

Here is a story that is way too personal for a blog.  But what is a blog for, if not to share things that are way too personal for it?  (Ah, now I have your interest, don't I?)  This little story-that-I-promise-is-not-as-long-as-Bleak House is dedicated to all the loving friends and family members who have sincerely asked "How are you?"and to whom I have not-quite-sincerely answered, "Fine."  Here it goes...

Last summer God told me to have another baby.  (See?  I told you this was personal.)  Now, to understand this story, you have to believe that God talks to me.  Not in that voice-from-the-heavens way.  But, quietly, through thoughts and impressions that start out deep within and grow stronger until I am certain it's God sending a message.  I imagine that most of you know what I am talking about because you've experienced it yourselves.  For those of you who are skeptical, I have three words:  Suspension of disbelief.  (Look, if you can, for two hours, let yourself believe that the bite of a radioactive spider would improve your jumping skills, you can, for the three minutes it will take you to read this, believe that God talks to me.  Otherwise you're not going to appreciate it.)  

So, like I said, God told me we needed to have another baby, and sooner rather than later.  How did I respond?  I lay on the couch for a week in a depressed stupor.  This was not good news.  

You know how you have things you swear you'll never do, like get engaged really fast or start a blog? (Guilty and guilty, obviously.)  Well, for many years numero uno on my list of Things I Know I Will Never Do No Matter What was having three children right in a row.  Hey, I know my limits.  For me, any advantages (which I had a hard time seeing) could never make up for the disadvantages.  I was so adamant about this that on our second date I told Greg that I would never have a third child until my first was in school.  Why we were talking about family planning (!) long before we talked about marriage remains foggy in my mind.  Obviously, I had rather strong feelings on the subject if I felt the need to point them out on our second date.  (Greg, thank you for continuing to date me.)

Experiencing for myself  pregnancy, childbirth, and recovery from childbirth, coupled with the high-maintenance children Greg and I create (nature? nurture?) only strengthened my commitment (and Greg's) to avoiding Three Children in Four Years.  After Mary was born, we were finished.  Forever, as far as I was concerned--though I was willing to reconsider once (1) David was school-age and (2) the technology existed to beam babies Star-Trek style out of their mother's wombs.  So when God told me to have another baby (before Mary would even be two!), I was not a happy camper.  

And this is where I say "to be continued" because that sweet little girl of mine is waking up.  (Do you feel the suspense?)

25 random things

Okay, okay, okay!  But just this ONCE.  And I remain uninterested in joining Facebook.  (I'll let Brooke explain to you why.)  Hello, people, I still have an AOL email account--since when did I join the 21st-century?  But I will play along with all you facebookers (and non-facebookers):

1. I really like the Beatles.  A lot.
2. I have been transported to the hospital in an ambulance.  (Skiing accident.)
3. I have a master's in English lit.
4. I studied theatre in London one spring.
5. I have been to a New Kids on the Block concert.
6. I have given birth twice.  The first was via C-section, and the other was a VBAC (drug-free).  All things considered, I think I preferred the C-section.  (Blasphemy, I know.)
7. Whenever I am in Europe, I really miss ice.
8. I like Secretary Gates.  I like him so much that I have to make a conscious effort not to bring him up in conversation (because that would be weird).
9. I am compulsively bossy, especially to my brothers.  For instance, when my little brother started law school, I had to give him advice, even though everything I knew about law school I had learned from Legally Blonde.
10. I love Hello Kitty.  This is inconsistent with everything else in my life.
11. I have an inner math geek.  I even scored higher on the quantitative section of the GRE than my engineer husband.  But I can't remember what 7x4 is.  Or my phone number.
12. My Mormon friends will appreciate this:  I have been Relief Society president, Young Women president, and Primary president--but all for short amounts of time and under unusual circumstances.  (My non-Mormon friends should know that admitting outright to having been those three things, like I just did, is generally not socially acceptable.)
13. The only bone I have ever broken was in my little brother's foot.  
14. I did missionary work for a year and a half in the Dominican Republic.  I always could speak more Spanish than I could understand, which is the exact opposite from what everyone else on the planet experiences when learning a language.
15. I floss every day.
16. Mary sleeps in my bed each night.  Baby David did too.  I can't resist.  My babies are so adorable, and I am so lazy.
17. I wish I were a good cook, but I am not.  
18. Greg and I officially decided we were getting married (I guess you would call that "got engaged") in my classroom at Springville Middle School.  The seventh graders were not present at the time.
19. I considered myself to be an animal rights activist when I was a child.  (Once at a party I refused to watch Return from Snowy River because my American Humane Association newsletter had given it a failing grade.)
20. I prefer vegetables over fruit.
21. The only Harry Potter movie I like is the third one.
22. I have read Heart of Darkness three times, and I hated it every time.  I have also read The Great Gatsby three times.  I hated it the first two times, but I liked it the third time when it was proposed to me that it could be understood as a re-writing of Heart of Darkness.
23. I have flown on a C-5 (the second largest airplane in the world--the Russians make the biggest one) four times, each time to cross the Atlantic.
24. I do not know where I am from; I suspect that I will never be from anywhere.
25. In elementary school I set the school record for pull-ups.  Eleven.

Phew!

So did you learn anything new?

When all the sandboxes in town are covered with ice and snow for six months of the year

Once there was a snowman

This is snowman #2.  The first one fell on Mary.  Oops.  

This guy has been with us for a while, and it looks as though he'll be with us a while longer.  Does it ever get above freezing in this state?

A picture from this morning

I love this little girl.

Mother

David has been calling me "Mother" today.  Actually, it's more like "mudder."

I'm not sure how I feel about this.

Soul mates

When God sent Mary into our family, I wasn't just getting a daughter.  He was sending me my soul mate.  How do I know?

Because Mary has already figured out that a favorite cold beverage (water here) is best enjoyed in a 32 oz. cup with plenty of ice.

First word

It's official.  Mary's first word is "apple."  She says "a-pooh."  She can also make the sign, so she really thinks she's a big shot.

Anyway, it figures that "apple" would be her first word.  (Forget "Mom" and "Dad.")  Her favorite thing to do is walk around the house munching on an apple.  (So much for the no-food-outside-the-kitchen-and-dining-room rule.  I can fight only so many battles...)

Guess who's going to Afghanistan!

Mickey Mouse will soon be joining my brother Dave and his fellow Marines at their Forward Operating Base smack dab in the middle of Taliban country.  Mickey Mouse is part of the longest-running inside joke in my family's history.  I can't even begin to explain...

Sweet dreams

(I'll be the first to admit there's a double standard in this family.  If Greg were to post on the Internet a picture of me asleep in bed...)