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.
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Friday, October 23, 2009
Facebook Babies
One thing about Facebook is that I see all the pictures of EVERYONE having babies. It seems like everyone. A lot of people. So many people seem to be due before me! I've waited so long for this moment.
I see them, gazing down at the newborn infant, with a deeply warm smile on their face. And it's usually their 3rd child now, they've gotten this moment before, and each time, things have gone well. The baby comes out, they get to hold it, they go home. In love.
I want that so bad.
I want it more than anything.
And it is so close, just weeks away.
But the question is still in my mind, will that be for me? Will I get to hold her and keep her? Will I get to, after the intense, loving work, hold my baby and love her? That was stolen before.
The most joyful moment is about to come.
We talk to her, sing to her, every night, we love her, we wait. These days, when she is so close, the waiting is long.
The night is a big yawning black to settle into.
We both have our rituals we need to do now before bed. Light the candle, light the sage, rub the rose oil over the heart, look at the stars, breathe, pray, love Otto, love Lima, be brave.
I see them, gazing down at the newborn infant, with a deeply warm smile on their face. And it's usually their 3rd child now, they've gotten this moment before, and each time, things have gone well. The baby comes out, they get to hold it, they go home. In love.
I want that so bad.
I want it more than anything.
And it is so close, just weeks away.
But the question is still in my mind, will that be for me? Will I get to hold her and keep her? Will I get to, after the intense, loving work, hold my baby and love her? That was stolen before.
The most joyful moment is about to come.
We talk to her, sing to her, every night, we love her, we wait. These days, when she is so close, the waiting is long.
The night is a big yawning black to settle into.
We both have our rituals we need to do now before bed. Light the candle, light the sage, rub the rose oil over the heart, look at the stars, breathe, pray, love Otto, love Lima, be brave.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Morning light
After my walk with Bo this morning through sidewalks with distilled, slanting, whiteFall light, and leaves of every color on maples, and the woodiness of the oaks, and water from rain on the grass, I came home and walked into the bedroom and saw the co-sleeper we have set up, and felt peaceful about her coming.
There is her bed. With some of her clothes stacked in it. And she will be in it soon. And she is safe in my belly.
I pray for her safety. I pray to my grandmothers, and to angels, to GOD, to all the mothers who have ever been, to make my baby safe.
There is her bed. With some of her clothes stacked in it. And she will be in it soon. And she is safe in my belly.
I pray for her safety. I pray to my grandmothers, and to angels, to GOD, to all the mothers who have ever been, to make my baby safe.
Monday, October 19, 2009
Fall, coming and going
A time of such beauty, the leaves on trees fiery and deep, a time of things going to sleep.
So much love and so much heartache.
I look forward to getting the baby dresser back in our home, and as soon as it's here, I want to break down. Our baby is coming so soon, and I welcome her with these preparations. And yet, once the dresser is in our room again, the mama in me who misses her son is so sad. "We picked this out for you, darling," I think. We went to the antique store, and decided it was right, we bargained for it, and then your Dad picked out the color and painted it, we put it in our room, and touched it every time we walked by. This one piece of furniture that showed our baby was coming.
My mom comes over and brings the bins of clothes that I had laid out and washed and folded and organized getting ready for Otto. I am so excited to be getting ready for a baby again, for my little girl. I can't believe I get to pull them out again, these things that hurt so much to put away. My mom helped me put them away, that impossible task, and here she is again, as we take them out.
And in order to get them out, I must pass through the hurt again. I have to remember going to the stores where we chose things for our little boy (who we didn't KNOW was a boy yet, but had a good feeling). Our first child, all the hope, all the faith and belief of those months, the decisions of what kind of diaper to get and how many, thinking of what kind of parents we wanted to be through the THINGS that we accumulated, I took it all so seriously. Finding the Moses basket, Ryan's mom making the liner for it, just for him, the gifts given, the blessings people wrote that we tucked inside the liner.
It's still so hard to believe and accept that you won't wear these things. That all our love and care was compounded into one week, one week to see you and hold you. It is hard to touch these sweet little things again, and let you go from them again.
We learn to love you from our hearts, to carry your heart, to let you carry ours. But I miss my son. I miss the boy that won't grow up with me, who I won't have laughter with, or first words or tantrums or all the beautiful and difficult things that we would go through together. The amazing person that I know you were and would become.
And your sister, your beautiful sister, is about to come into the realm of our arms. She is here with us now, sleeping between us, hearing our conversations, sleeping and waking, taking up so much of our conversation.
"How is Lima today?" your daddy asks all the time. We talk about how you're moving, how often, how I'm feeling, any contractions, emotions, we circle around you. You are coming and you are here already. I am so happy to be pregnant, so pregnant with you. I look at my belly every day with wonder at the shape and the grace of the lines of roundness. I am so grateful that we've gotten to create another little being.
And we go through these months, from September to November, a year from when Otto died, in that silent tunnel of space when he didn't exist on this earth, not yet conceived, not yet in my belly, and then a year later, gone, back to the earth, back to the heavens. The year anniversary of the saddest months of our lives, the most quiet, the most insane, the most heartful. I couldn't remember the leaves of last year, I was blind to the Fall. I thought it was a little insulting actually, I couldn't get inspiration from the way things looked or felt, it just wasn't enough, I wasn't part of it, nothing could compare to my little boy.
And somehow, a year has passed. And we see the leaves every day, we point them out and take them in, because this time, they mean that our daughter is coming. The air cools, the earth is fragrant, the birds change, we welcome all of it.
How can we hold so much? How can the Fall be the time of such excitement and such disappointment, hope and devastation, so much love? It is why I'm up at 4:30am, my mind full of strange chatter and dreams, because it is really hard to hold both.
I feel slightly crazy. So any phone calls and emails and cards are so welcome, any coffee dates or short walks, any candles lit and poems read and prayers sent off really do help. We need help. I need people now. I also need a lot of sleep and naps and quiet. And reassurance.
Thank you for reading and for the love sent.
So much love and so much heartache.
I look forward to getting the baby dresser back in our home, and as soon as it's here, I want to break down. Our baby is coming so soon, and I welcome her with these preparations. And yet, once the dresser is in our room again, the mama in me who misses her son is so sad. "We picked this out for you, darling," I think. We went to the antique store, and decided it was right, we bargained for it, and then your Dad picked out the color and painted it, we put it in our room, and touched it every time we walked by. This one piece of furniture that showed our baby was coming.
My mom comes over and brings the bins of clothes that I had laid out and washed and folded and organized getting ready for Otto. I am so excited to be getting ready for a baby again, for my little girl. I can't believe I get to pull them out again, these things that hurt so much to put away. My mom helped me put them away, that impossible task, and here she is again, as we take them out.
And in order to get them out, I must pass through the hurt again. I have to remember going to the stores where we chose things for our little boy (who we didn't KNOW was a boy yet, but had a good feeling). Our first child, all the hope, all the faith and belief of those months, the decisions of what kind of diaper to get and how many, thinking of what kind of parents we wanted to be through the THINGS that we accumulated, I took it all so seriously. Finding the Moses basket, Ryan's mom making the liner for it, just for him, the gifts given, the blessings people wrote that we tucked inside the liner.
It's still so hard to believe and accept that you won't wear these things. That all our love and care was compounded into one week, one week to see you and hold you. It is hard to touch these sweet little things again, and let you go from them again.
We learn to love you from our hearts, to carry your heart, to let you carry ours. But I miss my son. I miss the boy that won't grow up with me, who I won't have laughter with, or first words or tantrums or all the beautiful and difficult things that we would go through together. The amazing person that I know you were and would become.
And your sister, your beautiful sister, is about to come into the realm of our arms. She is here with us now, sleeping between us, hearing our conversations, sleeping and waking, taking up so much of our conversation.
"How is Lima today?" your daddy asks all the time. We talk about how you're moving, how often, how I'm feeling, any contractions, emotions, we circle around you. You are coming and you are here already. I am so happy to be pregnant, so pregnant with you. I look at my belly every day with wonder at the shape and the grace of the lines of roundness. I am so grateful that we've gotten to create another little being.
And we go through these months, from September to November, a year from when Otto died, in that silent tunnel of space when he didn't exist on this earth, not yet conceived, not yet in my belly, and then a year later, gone, back to the earth, back to the heavens. The year anniversary of the saddest months of our lives, the most quiet, the most insane, the most heartful. I couldn't remember the leaves of last year, I was blind to the Fall. I thought it was a little insulting actually, I couldn't get inspiration from the way things looked or felt, it just wasn't enough, I wasn't part of it, nothing could compare to my little boy.
And somehow, a year has passed. And we see the leaves every day, we point them out and take them in, because this time, they mean that our daughter is coming. The air cools, the earth is fragrant, the birds change, we welcome all of it.
How can we hold so much? How can the Fall be the time of such excitement and such disappointment, hope and devastation, so much love? It is why I'm up at 4:30am, my mind full of strange chatter and dreams, because it is really hard to hold both.
I feel slightly crazy. So any phone calls and emails and cards are so welcome, any coffee dates or short walks, any candles lit and poems read and prayers sent off really do help. We need help. I need people now. I also need a lot of sleep and naps and quiet. And reassurance.
Thank you for reading and for the love sent.
Sunday, September 13, 2009
First Rain
First rain is early this year. We had a thunderstorm late Friday night, lightening, thunder, then the rain. And today we walked out the door to run errands and that amazing smell was all around - water in the air, the first drops on warm pavement. It reminds me of the Jersey Shore, the warm rain, it smells like summer. Even though here it means fall is coming.
I like an early first rain. Quell the fires, let softness come home, light some candles, take a nap, may we get enough water for the season, may the crops get their drink, may the earth be calmed.
Living in California my whole life, rain is always a blessing, something I'm grateful for, something we can't control but hope that we get.
Little baby girl is moving well. I keep feeling a little knee or elbow passing on my left side, and it makes me so happy. I'm practicing visualizations fo the birth, how each "birthing wave" as we will call them, will bring me closer to her, I imagine holding her, it swells my heart. And then a few hours later I have a surge of missing my boy so deeply. At this point the two births are walking together, parallel paths, both full of love, such a deeply bonding experience between mama and baby.
It is a very intense time for me, these last weeks before Lima comes, walking a tightrope of trust over a big empty unknown. That is how it feels. Most of me knows she will be in my arms soon, easily, and we will wonder at her.
The early first rain is a good sign, of home, of peace, of the heavens coming down softly to meet us.
I like an early first rain. Quell the fires, let softness come home, light some candles, take a nap, may we get enough water for the season, may the crops get their drink, may the earth be calmed.
Living in California my whole life, rain is always a blessing, something I'm grateful for, something we can't control but hope that we get.
Little baby girl is moving well. I keep feeling a little knee or elbow passing on my left side, and it makes me so happy. I'm practicing visualizations fo the birth, how each "birthing wave" as we will call them, will bring me closer to her, I imagine holding her, it swells my heart. And then a few hours later I have a surge of missing my boy so deeply. At this point the two births are walking together, parallel paths, both full of love, such a deeply bonding experience between mama and baby.
It is a very intense time for me, these last weeks before Lima comes, walking a tightrope of trust over a big empty unknown. That is how it feels. Most of me knows she will be in my arms soon, easily, and we will wonder at her.
The early first rain is a good sign, of home, of peace, of the heavens coming down softly to meet us.
Sunday, September 6, 2009
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.
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.
Thursday, September 3, 2009
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.
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.
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