I think this is a great follow up post on my last post. A little change in perspective.
My counselor discussed with me living in the moment. Initially, I kind of rolled my eyes. Most of the 'Living in the Moment' discussions I've had have seemed pretty irrelevant to me. I don't feel like I am the kind of person who lives in the past or dwells in the past. I feel a lot of the time like the past is for learning, and that I just need to focus on the future and the next step.
However, living in the moment isn't just about not living in the past, it is also about not living in the future.
You can ask anybody who knows me. I'm a planner. I have plans, goals, dreams, aspirations. I spend a lot of time thinking about the future and my goals. My plans change often, but I always have a general outline of what I want to happen in my life in the next (insert period of time here). School, marriage, family, I even think about retirement and grandchildren. It is comforting to me to have a plan. The times that I feel the most helpless or out of control are times when I don't have a plan for the next step.
I don't think this is necessarily a bad thing. It is important to have goals and have a direction you want your life to head in. However, there are definitely drawbacks to spending a lot of my time and energy focused on the future. The biggest one being that I'm missing the now.
Eric and I just celebrated our one year anniversary. The first year of our marriage is gone. We will never get that back. There were good things, and bad things, and mediocre things, but they are gone now. That first year of our lives as husband and wife is over. Time moves forward, it stops for no man. I can't change the fact that it's gone, but I do have control over whether or not in a couple of years I look back on this time and regret I was so focused on the future that I missed the now, the now we will never have again.
Since my first miscarriage, I have felt so strongly that having a baby would heal the hurt that I feel. Every subsequent loss has only served to push me harder into trying to get my take home baby. Yes, we are ready to start a family. We have talked about it, intimately, in depth, on multiple occasions, and the conclusion that we always come to is that we are ready to be parents. Well, as ready as one can be to be a parent. Emotionally, I want to be a mother so bad that it is physically painful sometimes to see others achieve that goal while I am left in the dust.
However, once we have a child, we can never go back to being just a couple with no kids. Sure, in 20-30 years they will (hopefully) all move out and we will be empty nesters, but we will still be Mom and Dad. And, although I am totally ready to commit my life to raising what I hope will be responsible, mature, healthy, happy adults, (I don't ask for much...) I don't want to look back on my life with Eric and think, "Wow, I really wished I had been more involved in that part of our lives. I wish I had enjoyed that more. I wish I could have that back and relive it."
And so, while there continues to be a plan, and while I am going to continue pursuing my goals, including the goal of motherhood, I have decided to try to be more mindful of the present moment, to enjoy it, to really live it. Because, I love my husband. I adore him. Every day, I feel like I am more in love with him than I could possibly be, and the next day that love is multiplied. I want to enjoy my life with him as it is right now, warts and all, because in the future, I will only have the memories.
Wednesday, December 12, 2012
Wednesday, December 5, 2012
My Desire
Yeah, I'm a nerd. I love Harry Potter. But, I was thinking today what I would see if I looked into the Mirror of Erised. As you may or may not know, the mirror shows you the deepest desire of your heart. If I looked into the mirror, this is what I think I would see:
Myself. Healthy, and pregnant with a little Juchau of my own.
I want to be a mom. I want to be a mom so bad, that it is physically painful. I never knew I could want something so, so badly. Each loss cuts me deep, wounds me more than I can even say.
The first pregnancy, I was just excited. I was overwhelmed and apprehensive as well, but I think those feelings are normal. Bringing a child into this world is a life changing event. Your identity completely changes. You are all of a sudden a mother, with a baby that is going to need to be taken care of. It's simultaneously exciting and terrifying. I can't say that I didn't think miscarriage was a possibility, I know enough to know that miscarriages happen. But, when it did happen, I was devastated. Completely devastated. Like the rug had been completely pulled out from under me. I landed on my ass, hard. I didn't know where to turn, but I was in too much pain to just stand up on my own and walk it off. So, I think I crawled at first. Crawled with eyes blurred with tears as the loss of a friend and my life in general smacked me from side to side. Then, one day, as I was yelling at my husband for God knows what (obviously not important, nothing we fight about is EVER important) he looked up at me and said, "You know what, I'm hurting too. That was my baby too." And I realized, I was on the floor crawling around, and he was on the floor crawling around, and for the first moment we were able to look at each other, grab on to each other, and help each other off of the freaking floor and onto our feet where we could compare bruised knees and awe in the ignorance that we didn't even think to lean on each other until that moment.
That is where strength in marriage comes from. Trials. Painful, earth shattering trials that will either tear you apart and fling you to the corners, or will bring you so close together that you marvel how you ever lived when there is a very important piece of you living in your partner.
The second pregnancy, I was quite a bit more apprehensive. I was still excited, and Eric was like a kid on Christmas. He would touch my belly and talk to the baby, tell them he loved them and he was going to take good care of them. He took the bad news the way he always takes it, stoically. Kisses me on the forehead, hugs me, tells me he's sorry and he loves me and lets me cry. That loss was painful, but with a smattering of guilt. One miscarriage, well, statistically people have them. I know very few women who haven't ever had one, and even fewer women who haven't had one and who are done having kids. But, I know even less women who had more than one in a row. I had a wall, and I didn't realize it but it had just gotten taller.
This pregnancy, I was not excited at all. I didn't even properly inform my husband. I swear I told him, but apparently I never actually said the words, "I'm pregnant." I probably said, "I might be pregnant, I'll know in a couple of days." I wanted to be sure, I wanted to get lab tests and see those numbers going up before I would begin to feel excited. Maybe I was little, titchy bit excited, after all, two pink lines is always an exciting and terrifying thing to see, but I just knew in my heart it wasn't going to take. I thought if I could just get to the 8 week mark, I would be ok. Once again, Eric was excited. I thought he knew, but I guess he was just excited at the possibility. He would put his hand on my belly, and talk to it, and talk to me about it. How it would affect our plans for the future. It's amazing how much you can love something that is just a little mass of cells.
I dreaded going to the bathroom. Every time I would wipe and it was clear, I breathed a sigh of relief. Then, I wiped and there was brown on the toilet paper. My heart sank into the floor. I know that brown spotting can be normal in early pregnancy, so I tried to tell myself that this was just cervical irritation and nothing more. Then, the next day, it was red.
I didn't cry. Not right away. I didn't feel like I could cry. I was sad, so, so sad. My sadness was beyond tears. A little piece of me dies every time I have a miscarriage. I look at women who have normal, healthy pregnancies and I feel sick inside.
If I'm honest with myself, I always knew I would have a hard time having a baby. I didn't have any good reason to make me think so. My mom had 4 pregnancies and 4 healthy babies. Sylvee had no problems with her pregnancy. She had so little problems, she didn't even know she was pregnant until Ivory started kicking her! My grammie had a couple of miscarriages, but she also had 7 healthy pregnancies. But, when I hit puberty, I just had a feeling, a nagging doubt in the back of my mind, that I would struggle with getting pregnant.
Well, I can get pregnant OK. I just can't keep the pregnancies very long. And, every time I lose a baby, my wall gets thicker. At this point, if we do get pregnant and STAY pregnant, I won't be able to enjoy it as much as I would if I hadn't had all of these problems. The first trimester has become a terrifying aspect for me, like a monster in a closet.
I want to be a mom. I want to be a mom so bad, it is physically painful. I see teenage girls getting pregnant for fun. I see women who get pregnant and don't want to gain any weight, so they starve their babies. I see women get pregnant and decide they can eat whatever they want, but don't want the test for gestational diabetes because they have to get poked by a needle. I see women who are addicted to drugs have multiple pregnancies, and have multiple babies carted away. But, I see the other side. I see women, like me, who would walk on hot coals to get pregnant and stay pregnant. I see women who are willing to have painful procedures, take medicines with terrible side effects, and suffer every month, just to see those two little pink lines, just to see that little heart fluttering away on the screen. I know how much I would love and cherish my child, how I would sacrifice everything and anything to have a healthy baby in my arms. Sometimes, the pain is so bad, I don't know if it is my stomach or my very broken heart, I'm just writhing on the bed or in the tub, sobbing, and praying.
My husband is an atheist, and he is even praying.
At least I'm not alone in this. I know there are millions of couples who struggle to have a baby, whether they deal with infertility or multiple miscarriages. (Side note, Do you know what the medical term is for a woman who has multiple miscarriages? Habitual Aborter. Tell me that isn't the absolute worst thing you have ever, EVER, EVER heard!!) There is a solution to my problem. Thank God for modern medical science! And, I still have faith. Not every second of every day. I do have weak moments where I sit in the bottom of my shower and cry because I feel like I will never be able to have a baby. But, most of the time, I have faith that someday I will hold my child in my arms.
Eric has been my rock through all of this. I know how badly he wants to have a baby in his arms too. When I have my weak moments, and my doubts, he looks at me and says, "We can do this. It's going to happen. I promise." When I look into his eyes, it gives me strength, and I feel like we can continue on this journey together. Because, as long as I have him, I can do anything.
In the meantime, I can just close my eyes and picture that which is the deepest desire of my heart. I imagine a baby moving and growing inside me, imagine the ultrasound pictures showing little fingers and little toes, imagine giving birth, imagine holding my child in my arms and smelling their head, kissing their face, holding them to my breast, even though I know when my open my eyes...
...my womb and my arms are both empty.
Myself. Healthy, and pregnant with a little Juchau of my own.
I want to be a mom. I want to be a mom so bad, that it is physically painful. I never knew I could want something so, so badly. Each loss cuts me deep, wounds me more than I can even say.
The first pregnancy, I was just excited. I was overwhelmed and apprehensive as well, but I think those feelings are normal. Bringing a child into this world is a life changing event. Your identity completely changes. You are all of a sudden a mother, with a baby that is going to need to be taken care of. It's simultaneously exciting and terrifying. I can't say that I didn't think miscarriage was a possibility, I know enough to know that miscarriages happen. But, when it did happen, I was devastated. Completely devastated. Like the rug had been completely pulled out from under me. I landed on my ass, hard. I didn't know where to turn, but I was in too much pain to just stand up on my own and walk it off. So, I think I crawled at first. Crawled with eyes blurred with tears as the loss of a friend and my life in general smacked me from side to side. Then, one day, as I was yelling at my husband for God knows what (obviously not important, nothing we fight about is EVER important) he looked up at me and said, "You know what, I'm hurting too. That was my baby too." And I realized, I was on the floor crawling around, and he was on the floor crawling around, and for the first moment we were able to look at each other, grab on to each other, and help each other off of the freaking floor and onto our feet where we could compare bruised knees and awe in the ignorance that we didn't even think to lean on each other until that moment.
That is where strength in marriage comes from. Trials. Painful, earth shattering trials that will either tear you apart and fling you to the corners, or will bring you so close together that you marvel how you ever lived when there is a very important piece of you living in your partner.
The second pregnancy, I was quite a bit more apprehensive. I was still excited, and Eric was like a kid on Christmas. He would touch my belly and talk to the baby, tell them he loved them and he was going to take good care of them. He took the bad news the way he always takes it, stoically. Kisses me on the forehead, hugs me, tells me he's sorry and he loves me and lets me cry. That loss was painful, but with a smattering of guilt. One miscarriage, well, statistically people have them. I know very few women who haven't ever had one, and even fewer women who haven't had one and who are done having kids. But, I know even less women who had more than one in a row. I had a wall, and I didn't realize it but it had just gotten taller.
This pregnancy, I was not excited at all. I didn't even properly inform my husband. I swear I told him, but apparently I never actually said the words, "I'm pregnant." I probably said, "I might be pregnant, I'll know in a couple of days." I wanted to be sure, I wanted to get lab tests and see those numbers going up before I would begin to feel excited. Maybe I was little, titchy bit excited, after all, two pink lines is always an exciting and terrifying thing to see, but I just knew in my heart it wasn't going to take. I thought if I could just get to the 8 week mark, I would be ok. Once again, Eric was excited. I thought he knew, but I guess he was just excited at the possibility. He would put his hand on my belly, and talk to it, and talk to me about it. How it would affect our plans for the future. It's amazing how much you can love something that is just a little mass of cells.
I dreaded going to the bathroom. Every time I would wipe and it was clear, I breathed a sigh of relief. Then, I wiped and there was brown on the toilet paper. My heart sank into the floor. I know that brown spotting can be normal in early pregnancy, so I tried to tell myself that this was just cervical irritation and nothing more. Then, the next day, it was red.
I didn't cry. Not right away. I didn't feel like I could cry. I was sad, so, so sad. My sadness was beyond tears. A little piece of me dies every time I have a miscarriage. I look at women who have normal, healthy pregnancies and I feel sick inside.
If I'm honest with myself, I always knew I would have a hard time having a baby. I didn't have any good reason to make me think so. My mom had 4 pregnancies and 4 healthy babies. Sylvee had no problems with her pregnancy. She had so little problems, she didn't even know she was pregnant until Ivory started kicking her! My grammie had a couple of miscarriages, but she also had 7 healthy pregnancies. But, when I hit puberty, I just had a feeling, a nagging doubt in the back of my mind, that I would struggle with getting pregnant.
Well, I can get pregnant OK. I just can't keep the pregnancies very long. And, every time I lose a baby, my wall gets thicker. At this point, if we do get pregnant and STAY pregnant, I won't be able to enjoy it as much as I would if I hadn't had all of these problems. The first trimester has become a terrifying aspect for me, like a monster in a closet.
I want to be a mom. I want to be a mom so bad, it is physically painful. I see teenage girls getting pregnant for fun. I see women who get pregnant and don't want to gain any weight, so they starve their babies. I see women get pregnant and decide they can eat whatever they want, but don't want the test for gestational diabetes because they have to get poked by a needle. I see women who are addicted to drugs have multiple pregnancies, and have multiple babies carted away. But, I see the other side. I see women, like me, who would walk on hot coals to get pregnant and stay pregnant. I see women who are willing to have painful procedures, take medicines with terrible side effects, and suffer every month, just to see those two little pink lines, just to see that little heart fluttering away on the screen. I know how much I would love and cherish my child, how I would sacrifice everything and anything to have a healthy baby in my arms. Sometimes, the pain is so bad, I don't know if it is my stomach or my very broken heart, I'm just writhing on the bed or in the tub, sobbing, and praying.
My husband is an atheist, and he is even praying.
At least I'm not alone in this. I know there are millions of couples who struggle to have a baby, whether they deal with infertility or multiple miscarriages. (Side note, Do you know what the medical term is for a woman who has multiple miscarriages? Habitual Aborter. Tell me that isn't the absolute worst thing you have ever, EVER, EVER heard!!) There is a solution to my problem. Thank God for modern medical science! And, I still have faith. Not every second of every day. I do have weak moments where I sit in the bottom of my shower and cry because I feel like I will never be able to have a baby. But, most of the time, I have faith that someday I will hold my child in my arms.
Eric has been my rock through all of this. I know how badly he wants to have a baby in his arms too. When I have my weak moments, and my doubts, he looks at me and says, "We can do this. It's going to happen. I promise." When I look into his eyes, it gives me strength, and I feel like we can continue on this journey together. Because, as long as I have him, I can do anything.
In the meantime, I can just close my eyes and picture that which is the deepest desire of my heart. I imagine a baby moving and growing inside me, imagine the ultrasound pictures showing little fingers and little toes, imagine giving birth, imagine holding my child in my arms and smelling their head, kissing their face, holding them to my breast, even though I know when my open my eyes...
...my womb and my arms are both empty.
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