My belly is big

I need to find my camera so I can post a picture of it. I tell people I'm due in November and they always seem surprised! I sit like a man now, legs out, to leave room for the belly and baby.

I feel pretty with my big round belly. I wore a blue dress today that Catherine, my step mom, let me borrow for my pregnant time, it's cotton and flowy. I like dresses.

Oh baby Lima, we head into fall and I imagine the soups I will make and the smell of woodsmoke at night, Halloween and being as big as a pumpkin. I imagine you getting bigger and fatter in there. I imagine you deciding to come out, and an easy labor, and hearing you cry your big cry and how your daddy will cry too with a big smile on his face when he holds you for the first time. I can't imagine past that, it's all I got right now. But nothing else is as fun to imagine as that anyway.

Baby Otto, I saw a little boy your age today, my friend's boy, born about 2 weeks after you. I felt his feet and legs and arms, gauged how you would be, how you would feel, felt so much love for my pudgy one year old boy. I miss you so much.

I listened to a song on the way home, remember that song, "I'm a bitch I'm a lover I'm a child I'm a mother," and for a moment I felt like I was just right, a picture of perfection, in my dusty Subaru with a big hole in the lining where Bo chewed it up in a distressed moment, with my big belly and broken heart and new haircut, it was like a pattern of lace carefully woven, all these things in my life are me, a pattern that no one else is, I'm driving home with a latte and cookie for Ryan, on a sunny Sunday, with music playing, a baby in my belly, another baby in my heart, and so much love around.

I am in a daze of perfect blue skies with whispy clouds, warm sun, a breeze, leaves falling in droves from our backyard tree, slow mind, slow legs, sore hips, and love for Otto and Lima, and myself. and Ryan. and maybe even....life.

Heartache heartache. Like after you've swum in the ocean and got water up your nose and can feel it the rest of the day, it feels watery. Probably from crying.

Yesterday I went back to my good ol' prenatal water aerobics class, I went a couple times a week with Otto in my belly. It really helps me feel good, and I made some good friends there last time. Going back, to the same teacher, same routine, all different people, knowing I'd tell them my story at some point, it's hard. I missed my old friends, I missed being normal and I missed Otto.

I told myself, this is Lima's turn now, it's different. These are HER friends, this is her time.

But there is just heartache to go through. I got home to a card from Memorial Hospice, saying that they remembered that Otto died a year ago, and some nice things, but that triggered something and I just longed for him. I looked at his pictures and couldn't believe I would never hold him again. I don't know if this will ultimately sink in ever. And when I tap into that longing it seems endless.

I look at pictures of babies in the belly and I touch my baby through my skin, I am with her. I tell her I cry for her brother, it's not about her, I just miss our boy. But she must feel it. I fall asleep on the couch, finally, with my hands on my belly, just listening to her movements, enjoying my baby, the baby that is here now, so close to me. Ryan made dinner, took over. I know he has heartache too but he takes care of me.

These last weeks are full. Full belly, full love, full fear, depending on the moment. Part of me would like to go into cloister and not see anyone till she comes. I don't want to act normal because I don't feel normal.

To lose a child is heartache. I miss him. I long for my babies so much that I can't get to pictures of deliveries without a waterfall of longing, hope, sadness. And I'm starting to think about my own, preparing, and wondering how I will do it. I know I am strong and will do it but my heart knows the wonder of meeting a baby, and it is so ready! To wait and trust! at least it's September now! yay for September.

Pre-natal yoga

I write with little legs and arms moving like popcorn popping in my low abdomen. Little girl has a lot to say. I think she might be a dancer. Or a talker. Or a singer. Whatever she is it is wonderful.

I hold her and I hold my baby boy. I hold grief and love, I hold warmth and tears all at once. It makes no sense but it is life.

Today we went to cemeteries to find a place to bury Otto's ashes. It has been harder than I thought, even a year later, this finalizing, another step of reality of death. I don't want my baby to be ashes. I want him to be a baby. But as my dad said when I was telling him about it, it just shows us that we return to Source. Otto didn't just turn to ashes but he came from the earth too, we are always on some part of this journey, it is constantly moving and beautiful if you can see it from the right place. He wasn't born and didn't die in some senses, he always has been.

I went to my pre-natal yoga class tonight. We check in first, say our names and how many weeks we are and how we are doing. The women say things like how big they're getting, how strange it is to see the scale go up, how the crib is coming this week, and I sit there waiting my turn and thinking, "Well today I picked the plot where I will lay my baby to rest. Today I carried his ashes around in my purse. Today my husband signed more papers for a permit to bury our baby."

Part of me thought, how can I tell them about my week? How can I tell them where I am at? How different this pregancy is for me. These are their first babies, and like I was last time, they think about the stuff for the baby and the weight they're gaining. But I ended up with, how can I not tell them? This pregnancy for me, is blasted to a different universe of intense love and life and death that leaves the stuff so far behind, leaves the baby books and the parenting style choice and the concern about how I look many miles away. I have held my baby and sang him to sleep, I have birthed him and helped him die, I know that in the ancient codes of my body, mothering is there and will be blissful and wise as I bring little Lima into the world. As I bring her up. I don't doubt my ability, I know I am a good mama. I know Ryan is a good papa.

I told them that this week is the anniversary of my son's birth and death, how much I miss him, how much I put all the love for him into Lima too, how much I love her. And they didn't look away or feel awkward, they said, we're glad you came tonight and talked about it. I didn't scare them away. It is just my story. It is just my life.

I have no mind for calling people back or keeping up with music promotion or anything extra this week besides doing a couple massages and being with Ryan and Otto and Lima. And Bo.

Sweet Bo has been there every step of the way, licking off tears, offering hugs, and I am so grateful for his presence, a warm body to nap with, someone to tell them I love them who never gets tired of being pet. I think that part of his purpose in being our dog was to be here with us in this time. We rescued him and he is offering his sweet dog heart to us too, in the pain and in the great ball-throwing times. He is sensitive too, and upset when we are, and that is part of his life. But he has a good life, like we do too. Pain is part of the joy sometimes.

the week you were here, a year later

Your birthday, Otto, was sweet and tender, the week leading up to it hard. Nights up at 4am in the rocking chair, a candle by your picture, missing you so deeply, crying, writing.

The day came and it was about your coming, your sweetness.

I sit in the rocker now, so grateful that I got to rock you to sleep, and sing to you, and touch your hair and change your diaper, all those wonderful things I got to do as a mama. When we brought you home, and i got to open the closet full of things we had prepared for you, and get out the thermometer and the soft pink wash cloths, this warm rush came over me, this feeling that all was well, I got to live out the dream, I didn't want to think it was just for a couple nights, it felt like it would be mine. I thought, maybe they're wrong, maybe he'll stay. It must be what heroin feels like, this rush of love and peace and well-ness through my body, enough to make me long for it again.

I remember the night we got to room in with you at the hospital. All the cells in my body wanted this more than anything, and even if I just had one night with you, everything in me wanted it, no thought for the void ahead, I had you now, I had you in my arms. I felt like I'd have everything with those glorious words "rooming in". And it was true, I did. I didn't have to leave you all night long. I could hold you and hold you, and wish the morning would stay far away. It's good to remember that now, now that those nights are gone, how I knew their precious-ness, and planned to savor them the rest of my life.

And this week, with all the pain of your being gone, I can remember that closeness, first thing when I wake up, I can remember just how your feet felt in my hands, your warm body on my chest, the cool little bump of your nose, the unfathomable softness of your skin and hair. I remember in my body, not just pictures or stories, but I know them.

The hospital to us is such a mixture of memories, but it is mostly sacred. People would tell us we needed to get away, get a break, that it was stuffy in there, get some air, but every time we did get out it was like torture, we couldn't wait to get back to you. It was where YOU lived, it was your house, and all of it, the swinging door to your ward, washing our hands, the smell of tape and new plastic, all of it meant you and we loved it because it was you. It glowed because of you. Our baby, our brand new son, how much wonder you held for us. For parents to look on their child for the first times and wonder at how it happened at all; it is such a mystery and miracle, we could look at you constantly, hold your hands, hold your feet, talk to you, be with you. So brave in there, so brave.

your due date

Your due date was a year ago today, baby. It is an amazing thing to sit and be here in the moment a t this time of the year, when the squash plants are fading, the tomatoes ripening but the leaves getting dry, the gladiola stalks brown, the leaves starting to dry and fall from the maple in the back yard, the time when you came last year, or were coming, we were waiting.

To be here now, and remember how clean the house was, your toys out, all of us waiting, calls coming in, emails, is the baby come yet?

you are so close to our hearts, so close now, as your birthday comes, your first birthday. this love that was born when you were born, that came to fruition, will always be strong in us for you.

And as I write this, your little sister gets comfortable in my belly, moves little hands and feet, she lets me know she is there, she always says hello. After I woke up scared the other night I asked her mentally, "are you ok?"...kick. Good, thank you. a few minutes later, I ask again, "still there?"... kick. thank you. Thank you for being a little active one who always says hello.

Almost the 3rd trimester. nesting, growing, loving, dreaming, hips aching, legs stiff, glowing, people asking every question in the grocery store, reading, breathing, practicing for birth.

All these tings are here with me in this moment, my babies, waiting, hoping, crying, feeling reassured, feeling afraid, knowing there is no way to speed it up. For the first time ever, the changing of a leaf to red in August makes my heart beat faster. Fall means you are coming. usually I avoid those leaves, I pretend they are not there, I want summer to last forever, every year. And this year, I can float on these days, suspended. In love for my son who is so close, in love for this baby girl who is in my belly. I keep reminding myself this is the closest she will ever be, it is a precious time, soak it up, don't wish it past.

The tears get thicker as Otto's birthday comes close. What does this day mean? The day you came to us, it is full of so much love, we can't believe it. It carries so much loss. We don't know what it will be, we just have to wake up and be in it, all four of us, together.

10 year anniversary

So after you've been together a long time you start to look the same. We got our new shirts in today! Designed and picked out by Ryan, I love them, and it shows off Lima's little house that's getting bigger.

I can't believe it's been 10 years, how young we were when we gave our vows, how comfortable we are together now, how much we've been through this year. I'm so grateful for the daddy of Otto and Lima, for such a tender, wise heart, such a good laugher.

We head to Tahoe tomorrow for a couple days away, to be together, to see a beautiful place, to relax. In the midst of planning this tour and having so much to do, I'll have these moments of realizing that this is nothing to get worked up about. My life is safe, right now, we are healthy and we love each other, and that is ALL that matters. It is nice thinking that way. Realizing what we have.

I feel little Lima moving her arms and legs, she lets me know she is there all the time, keeps me from worrying. She likes to move down low, I feel slow swirls and squirms and then a good firm kick. We're 22 weeks tomorrow. Wow. Really getting there.

I walked through a baby store with my mom today and we looked at the girl side of the store this time. I showed her the outfits that I liked and the ones I didn't and we paused at the boy side and tried not to cry, tried not to live in the hurt too much. But I sure miss him when I see that, and on Thursdays when the garbage trucks come by and I think how much he would love that probably. I love you, Otto, you are always with us. I love you, Lima, thank you for your kicks.

19 week sonogram

The day before our sonogram felt like Christmas Eve. I'd been counting down the days for weeks, like a kid before Christmas, that wonderful excitement that I don't feel as much as an adult. We were going to get to meet our little one in a new way. Ryan and I took a walk that Sunday, the day before, and were smiling and saying, " it's tomorrow! It's happening!". And we were both trying to focus on the happiness of it more than on the possibility of bad news. We walked by the little playground that I've been looking at the past 3 years knowing our children would play there. And we've had to wait longer than expected. Without thinking I went and sat on one of the swings and went lightly back and forth.

A group of kids was playing nearby, around 8 years old. A little girl got up suddenly and said she had to go to the bathroom, but saw the swings and changed coarse. There are only 2 swings. And she sat down on the one next to me and smiled and started to swing, just looking at me. It was sweetly awkward, and I admit I was honored. But I had no idea what to say. Examples of possibilities that popped in my head, "What's your name," ...no, that felt a little creepy for a stranger in a park. Then came the idea, "So, do you come here often? " which made me laugh out loud. So I decided just to smile back and say nothing let myself swing with her. Ryan was watching with a big smile on his face.

She got a good arc coing and suddenly jumped off, with great flare, and then got back on and swung some more. "Good jump" I said, glad to have something to reference. She said thanks. "I'm not going to jump off." I said, and she looked at my belly and said " I can see why," which made me really happy that she knew I was pregnant. We swung a while longer and then I stopped and said I was going, and nice swinging with you.

I walked up to Ryan, all happy, and said, "I'm gonna be a mom again," and he said, "I was thinking the same thing." It was a small answer, I could feel it in my body, that those swings would still get to bring that joy to me, and that little girl who sat next to me and wanted to swing with me was a healer in her right, she brought reassurance. I thought, "this little baby must be a girl."

We know it is best to focus on the large percentages that all will be well, that this will go well, that she will come, that we will be incredibly happy.

But going to the doctor for results on a test for our child will not be an easy task for us for a long time. If you have never stood in an elevator, slowly going up, and felt your knees buckle beneath you as the door opens because you will have to walk down a long hallway to a small meeting room filled with 9 doctors with an answer, then it will be hard for you to understand our fear. If you haven't sat in this room with your husband and parents while everyone tried to act normal before they told you the news like they were reading a story, "Otto has severe brain damage, and will not live long, " and felt your precious son float away from you, when you were hoping the answer would be that maybe he would have some learning disabilities or some challenges, but he'd have a life, if you haven't felt the world fade away from you in a single moment, then you won't know what it feels like. If that hasn't been your experience, then it might not make sense how our hearts pound as we wait for a result.

We are learning to let this baby have a life of her own, a pregnancy all her own, a birth all her own. She has her own life to live, and it is not Otto's life, she is a new person. But driving to the hospital, my primal self took over and I found it hard to breathe. I was excited and yet I felt like my lungs were sore, and I hoped they wouldn't take my blood pressure! Long, loud breaths in the car, 10 minute drive. Once we were there, waiting, on time even, I felt much better. And they called my name, and I went in and the tech got right to business. And all of a sudden, there was our baby, looking right up at us.

Our baby is indeed a little girl. Or they're pretty sure she's a girl. Like we thought! The ultrasound was amazing, to see her hands in little fists, moving around, in front of her face, off to the side, to see her legs, stretched out and curled up, my heart was sore from so much love and longing to hold her. The technician said all the measurements look good and we just got confirmation from the head nurse that all is well. Elation. Love.

This is such good news.

The week after the sonogram was heavy - lots of crying, lots of release, of missing our boy, the reality of this new little girl coming, she's really coming. Feeling her move, feeling her not move and having a small panic till I look up "fetal movement 20 weeks" on google and see that everyone has the exact same post, and that it's normal for movement to be inconsistent now since baby is still small and won't always kick where you can feel it. Sigh of relief.

She is well and active and we're halfway there. I imagine holding her for the first time, so sweet, so warm, my baby, in my arms. Keep imagining this image. We don't have a name yet but we have the same conversation all the time, going through the list and liking different names on different days. These beautiful cool July days with roses all over sidewalks and a full moon and green tomatoes and a hummingbird on his favorite branch in our backyard tree. Our family, all four of us.