Imperfect
Posted: April 16, 2013 Filed under: Great Expectations 4 CommentsI still haven’t figured out how to be patient, especially with the kids. On days when I’m already feeling lousy, my capacity for patience seems significantly diminished. Take today, for example…
Our new door, courtesy of Jarom’s grandma, was finally being installed, and I’d gotten up around 7:30 since the installer was scheduled for 8. I went to bed early so I’d be rested, but that didn’t happen. And I was on edge because I was worried something would go wrong with the door, or we’d be stuck at home all day while they installed it (which, I realize, is not the end of the world), and also that whole thing about Tiny Baby. The kids were fairly well-behaved the whole time, and I didn’t even notice that it was getting toward the end of the “naptime safe zone.” You know, if I put June down too late, she won’t be tired at bedtime. (By the way, did you catch that I’m talking about June’s naps? She takes them again! Daily! Thank you to whoever prayed for that!!!)
I told June it was almost naptime, to which she sweetly replied, “No, it’s happy time!” As I went to pick her up she jumped – quite forcefully for her size – and slammed her head into my nose. For the second time today. It really hurt…a lot…and I was running out of energy/motivation/positive feelings anyway, so I didn’t exercise patience. I shouted at June, which made her cry, and I unlovingly put her in bed for her nap. I didn’t even look at her, I just shut the door and went in to my bed, where I cried about being a terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad mom.
Then I fell asleep.
I woke up a few times, mainly because Evan kept coming in to show me the new Lego thing he’d built, and every time I woke up I was shaking. Not violently, but still – it was weird. June ended up sleeping over 2 hours, and by the time we were both done napping I wasn’t shaking anymore. Sadly, I also didn’t have any more patience. I hoped a nap would do some magic recharge on that.
Good news, though: at bedtime I had both kids clean up their rooms, and aside from supervising, I didn’t help at all. They picked up everything and put it all away. This is big, because it actually requires a lot of patience on my part to let them clean up in their distracted, very slow way. It would be so much quicker to do it myself. But Evan and June both managed to get things tidied (eventually), so maybe I’m making progress – even if I’m far from perfect.
Requests
Posted: April 15, 2013 Filed under: The Story of a Mother 9 CommentsNow that we’re getting closer to Tiny Baby’s entrance into and exit out of the world (in just over a week), I have some specific things I need help with. These are for local friends and family who are willing to help out. Please let me know if you can do any of these – I’m trying to remind myself that I can’t do everything on my own, even though I’d rather not bother everyone with requests.
- Take our dog overnight Tuesday and Wednesday (April 24-25).
- Clean my house Tuesday or Wednesday (April 24 or 25).
- Drive Evan and June to the cemetery on Saturday (April 27).
- Bring a meal Friday night (April 26).
- Maybe bring some meals for a few days afterward (April 29-May 2).
For everyone near and far, will you keep us in your thoughts next week? At this point I’m mostly filled with dread – of how emotionally difficult it will be.
Finally, we’re planning a graveside service, but I’m unsure what we could do to make it meaningful. Any ideas?
Day 26
Posted: April 12, 2013 Filed under: The Story of a Mother 3 CommentsI’ve gotten used to our Friday checkups. Tiny Baby has been active enough that I’m not afraid of getting bad news, and I like getting to have a quick ultrasound and see the heartbeat every week. So I expected our visit today to be routine.
When Dr. L came in, he said he’d reviewed the images from the very first ultrasound – the one that got me referred to the perinatologist – and thought he, like that first sonographer, saw the baby’s full bladder. Obviously if there are no functional kidneys, there won’t ever be anything in the bladder, and it was something Jarom had wondered about after the second ultrasound, which found no kidneys, stomach, or bladder. The perinatologist was very final about his diagnosis, so I assumed the first sonographer was mistaken. But Dr. L wondered about the conflicting information, so he recommended we get another ultrasound done by the perinatologist.
He said that most likely, we’ll get the same diagnosis, or maybe a new diagnosis with the same outcome – but different risks for the future or different courses of action we may want to take. Of course, no matter the cause of the lack of amniotic fluid, the baby still can’t live.
But for one brief minute I got my hopes up.
For one brief minute I thought maybe the specialist was wrong, and things could somehow be fixed.
For one brief moment I wondered, What if Tiny Baby will live?
Hope is a terrible thing. Even though I can tell myself that this ultrasound won’t change much, if anything, some tiny part of me incessantly wonders, What if? What if?
I’d thought of a question a few days ago that I planned to ask today. After the recommendation for another ultrasound, I thought maybe I should wait until next week when we were sure that things would go ahead as planned. I asked anyway: Will it make a lot of difference that the baby is breech?
Yes.
The baby’s head can get stuck, in which case, if the baby was alive, they might die before the body is completely delivered.
Or the baby’s head can get stuck and I’ll start bleeding, a lot, in which case they would essentially do a partial-birth abortion in order to stop the bleeding. Normally they’d do a C-section, but since the baby has no chance of survival, they want to minimize the risk to me.
Waiting until the baby is bigger might help. Or it might not.
I didn’t know I could feel this horrible.
Jarom
Mika
hilleries 