baby Otto

Baby Luna

The weeks after you died I would wake up so lonely. A scared, homesick kind of lonely, clutching my belly, in a panic, like I'd misplaced you, where did you go?

After being in my belly so big, taking up so much of me, of my body and my heart and mind, it was a shock to have you gone from there, and gone from the room, gone from the house, from everywhere.

Wake up crying and confused, so lonely.

And now I get to lay on the bed on a sunny winter afternoon with my baby girl at my belly. Baby gone from my belly but just outside of it, warming me, right where she should be, both of us needing the other, doing our job for the other. Some call the first 3 months of the baby's life the 4th trimester, and it feels that way. We are still so connected after those long months of love through the cord, sharing heartbeats and breaths, my body still needs to feel her close, needs to mother her.

When we decided to be open to conceiving again I was surprised by a deep new sadness that came, of letting go of my baby Otto as my one and only, of that pure love, giving that to another baby, it was hard for my heart. We waited a little longer to honor those tears, to keep him as my child a little longer, to feel the fullness of only him.

But my body yearned for this mothering, for this 4th trimester and then years and years of care and love. And so came Luna, our rising moon, to carry on the love born with Otto and yet shaped just for her, just for her dear life, her coming.

And I still wish I could do that for my sweet Otto, and part of me still wants him to come back in some bending of the rules of nature. But I have now such a healing little bundle at my belly, lying and sleeping and making the best baby sounds. How a body can conceive so quickly after one pregnancy, after a deep tearing sadness, is to complete the love it was made for. I am an animal, a mama, who needs to mother, and my womb is so happy now, as it goes back down to it's smaller shape, its job done, and now sending love to this baby from the inside out, a job just as important as growing the baby.

She sends it to Otto too, up there in the stars, the Venus I still say hello to as day shifts to night.

In Good Hope

When Josef's (my stepdad) sister and husband came to visit from Switzerland this summer they told us that a phrase there for expecting a child is translated as "in good hope."

I thought this was perfect. Because there are no guarantees, but you're staying in the goodness of hope, knowing the fragility of this little one's life, of life in general.

I can't believe that now she's here! It kept hitting me last night, looking down at her sleeping on my lap after nursing. This is my daughter! This baby is mine! I get to be her mommy, the one who feeds her, the mommy who will comfort her, sing to her, raise her. What an honor.

It was hitting me last night also, how much I love Otto, how I don't know how to place him in our family. And then, the feeling that it hasn't been very long, and I will always be learning this.

Luna and I had our first outing to the grocery store alone together the other day. I had her in a sling, and people all smiled at us, and seemed delighted to see this baby. Especially older men were smiling, and 3 of them have said, "Oh, to be that baby." To have the nurturing and closeness and rest.

One woman asked me if Luna was my first. This question is not as hard to answer now that Luna is here and I don't have to worry if the same thing will happen as it did with Otto. But it's still sad to tell people no, she has an older brother who passed away a week after he was born. This woman looked sad, and said she was sorry. She said, "the same thing happened to my grandmother. She tells me that she still cries about it sometimes."

This made me warm inside. To know that this woman, of a generation where hardship was more common, where babies died more often, still holds this little one close, still mourns this baby.

I'm thinking about if I should change the name of my blog to include Luna. My Beautiful Little Boy and Girl, or Children. It seems like I should. And part of me thinks maybe I should keep this one just for him, since it's hard to keep places that are just his. But then I think, were he to have lived he would be sharing the family space with his brothers or sisters. Maybe it's more of an honor to him to leave this blog for the thoughts of all my children equally.

I'm afraid sometimes I will forget him. Luna is so full and warm and present, how will he compete with that in my heart? I still have hope that in some place and dimension I will hold him again, and know him fully. My oldest child, my son.

And till then, I will be finding my way, one step at a time, paartly through this blog. And now, I have thissweet warm milky baby to hold and love with all my heart.

My Little Girl

Luna Rowan Malmberg was born under a beautiful crescent moon on November 18th, 2009.

That morning Ryan and I walked through our neighborhood park, a winding sidewalk through grass and big oak trees, overlooking the East Santa Rosa hills. It was a fall day of blue skies, white clouds, brilliant yellow and reds and oranges on trees. I felt good contractions, and hoped that it would be the day.

I had a Non-stress test scheduled that day, and spent the afternoon waiting to go to it, on the couch, feeling pressure waves in my abdomen, calm, not painful, but a little dizzy with the hormones and feeling hopeful. My mom volunteered to drive me there since we didn't know if the contractions would keep coming, deepen or fade away as they had been for the past weeks.

When I got in her car the weather had completely changed, it was a low and full mist, enveloping the neighborhood in a pure white, low feeling. It felt beautiful. I thought, "baby if you're coming, this is such a wonderful day to be born, the skies are coming down to you."

Mom and I arrived at the hospital for the test, listening to her heartbeat, looking at the amniotic fluid. We scheduled these tests since 32 weeks to be extra careful with this little one. Meanwhile, the contractions are getting longer and stronger, showing up on the monitor. The nurse comes in, and says, if we want, we can stay and have the baby - her waters are a little low, I'm 4 cm dilated, let's go for it! It is now! I think, this is the room I will have my baby in.

I call Ryan and send him into a tizzy, getting our things together, he'll have to drive to hospital by himself! On his way over the skies fully open up and it's pouring down rain, shifting once again, bringing our baby in. This baby comes in with water, with the heavens to the earth.

Kath Ryn our doula arrives. She was one of our midwives during Otto's birth, and became a good friend this year, helping us with our grief. With us in this birth, we trust her so much to know what is going on, to know where our hearts will be, with two babies. When she comes in, she is full of smiles and light, so excited. We feel calm considering this is the time, this is the moment.

Contractions were about 5 minutes apart. It got harder. I talked, laughed, joked. Then it got harder. I laid down, breathed. It got harder still. Till the point where I truly believed, I cannot do this. It's too much, too hard, I want to be safe and have this stop! I yelled it out. Plus some other colorful words. My body can't take this, my mind can't take this. I missed Otto, I thought of the hospital he was in.

20 minutes later, and only 15 minutes of pushing, I heard my baby criy. She cried loud just like we wanted! She was in my arms, a little fish, I could hardly hold her, she was so fluid. Her eyes open, real, with me, and it all seemed as it should. It was real. I couldn't believe it, but it was. 1:31 am. 7 1/2 pounds, 19 3/4 inches. And perfect.

The grandparents had all arrived, all 6 of them in the waiting room, Ryan's parents all the way from Etna, CA, 6 hour drive. Pretty amazing considering I was in hard labor for about 7 hours, they came as soon as we called them.

After about a half hour of holding her, of having my baby find my breast and nurse, of touching her, unbelieving and yet completely natural, the grandparents walked in, a line of love and tears, men and women, glowing with love for this baby, our girl, Otto's sister, their grandaughter. They stood around the bed and peeked in, cooed, and when they'd given love and kisses enough, went home and celebrated - at 3:30am!

The hours and days following were intense with love and amazement, with tears for Otto, with seeing how things should have been with him, with seeing how she looked like him, how she was different. My baby was put straight into my arms, healthy, no problems. No problems. No problems.

And this is how it has been. She is pink and gaining weight, the doctor compeletely happy with her development, with everything about her. When she cries we want to know what's wrong, it is slowly ebbing from fearing the worst to realizing she is a baby and babies cry, and you can't always know what's wrong. The long learning of letting go, but being completely there.

The first eight days we had her were full of amazement and also heavy with aching for her brother, with remembering his eight days here. And the 8th day was Thanksgiving. All our family around, all our family pouring out love, everyone here for the roundness of our lives, to hold and kiss our beautiful baby girl. To hold us in our pain, to let us feel everything, in any order.

There has been so much I've wanted to write and can't quite get to the computer. This baby loves to be held, and we hold her, and there is not much more important than that. Than this milky love, pure love, that grows each night. My little one, I want the best for her. I want to love myself more so she will know how to love herself. I see how perfect she is and realize that I was that baby too, that I am perfect.

I will fill more in as I get time, many thoughts, and some will be forgotten. I want to BE with her. And let the time pass slow, let the days come and go and love her, fill her up with this cuddling, with being always near her, showing her that now, life is just about being near to each other. What a glorious way to be.

whoopsie doo

Almost each night
The waves start
I go into myself
I talk to my baby
I wonder if I will get to meet her,
I don't let myself believe it will be that night, then
But bit by bit, I start to hope,
I picture, I want, my heart opens,
And each night,
they fade away, farther and farther,
Like a whale song
Swimming far and deep
Far from me
Until it is silent, underwater stillness.
I wake up sad or angry
I know, I'm still early,
But this feels like being left. Alone.
I saw this ad on Facebook tonight
And think the vicious thought,
Maybe that's what I'll be left with.
A doll that pees and poops
Just like a real baby,
And you can change her diaper.
Ages 3 and up.
I'm 33.
And feel like I won't get the real thing.

Goodnight little one

Goodnight little baby, kicking and moving.
Getting ready for the big day.
We love you so much already.
We imagine holding you in our arms and giving you kisses.
I wish you a safe night and good sleep,
Store up lots of energy
And feel comforted
And know we are here with you
Through everything.
Don't be afraid, be excited!
A beautiful life is ahead of you,
The big oak tree outside full of stars,
Smokey November air,
Pumpkin bread and the voices of aunties and uncles
Grandparents and friends,
Gathered around you for this coming.
Enjoy these last days in the warm dark,
And then,
Want to be out of it,
Be ready for the next part,
Out in the open
But surrounded by love.

Oh pizza

So we go to our favorite NY Pizza Pie place, where Ralph speaks with a good Bronx accent, and the pizza is pretty damn close to the real East Coast thing, slightly adapted for Californians. Everyone loves to talk to Ralph about their piece of back East, including me.

Tonight someone asks Ralph, "I wanna order a do-it-yourself pizza" ( meaning he wants to pick the toppings). Ralph says, "oh yah? You know how to make a pizza? You wanna go back there and make it? How bout I make the pizza."

Someone else asks him, "hey, you know Pork Rollers? Like they have in New York?" Ralph says, "Do you put it on a pizza? Then no." It's awesome.

So we're in there and his wife is there too. And I'm big, my belly runs into things. She asks me if I want a beer. I love it. Tells me how she thinks it's fine to drink a little during pregnancy. I say I'll just have a sip of Ryan's, don't want to draw attention in public, we are still in California.

And then comes the usual conversation, all about the baby, and is this our first, I say no. I like leaving it at that because Otto isn't just defined as having died a week into his life. For me he is so present, he is my son, and if they need to know more, I'll tell them more about him. It's always kind of painful and awkward though. So I tell her. When she asks how old my son is.

Later she comes back, and says, "You know, your son is with the Lord." It was so strange, I had no idea what to say, it wasn't a question, it was a statement. How God loves children and takes care of them, and when I die I'll go to heaven and see him as a child.

To sit there with Ryan and try to take it gracefully was a challenge. She asks me "Do you believe this?" And I'm just thinking, why do I need to tell you what I believe? It is so vast and misty, of my heart, not something I go around defining in pizza parlors to people I just met. I know my baby is with me, I know he's in a good place, but to define heaven and God and how it all works?
This is my child, so close to my heart, and words don't need to be spoken here about the BEYOND.

She leaves and Ryan and I are both fighting back tears. Not sure exactly why. Partly because she gave me a hug, partly because we didn't know what to say. And we miss him so much. And making him an angel makes him not real.

Don't worry, we left in good spirits because the pizza is so good. And we went to gelato and got the BEST flavors - I got pumpkin and vanilla, it was the best dessert I've had for a while. Then we got coffee (for Ryan) and then a nice turn around the used book store, and it was FUN! We had a fun night. Indulgent. Strange. Good.

The moon is almost full. My belly is definitely full. And it was so nice to have fun! We're learning this. Tragedy, fun, laughing at yourself, laughing at other people, it's all part of this short/long life. We ended by taking pictures of my belly from angles that make it look huge, and Bo trying to kiss Ryan the whole time because he was on the floor. I laughed and laughed.

Moments of the moment

Just the last couple days
I've had moments of the moment
Excited about a small thing
Like planting sweet peas for the spring
Or laying down for a nap in the golden times of afternoon

Of letting myself feel the freedom
Of not having much to do
Except grow this baby,
Lie down with my hand on her,
We are separated on this side
By a quarter inch of skin and muscle.

She moves a knee against my palm,
And then gets all the love
that my body makes in chemicals
surrounding her,
The love of my heart expanding down to her.

The more I nap the more she moves,
The more I rest the more energy she gets
I rest to not get a cold,
I rest to save up my energy
For a labor rapidly approaching

and with every contraction I smile
Thinking how close I am
To holding you in my arms
And for that first look into each other's eyes.
If I survive that gloriousness
and don't explode into sparks
I will be a changed woman.