Eleven months.
Today marks 11 months since Becky joined and left our family at the same instant, without a breath or a cry.
It's almost a year. It's been a long 11 months. It's been a HARD 11 months. But in that time, I have seen some of the purpose in Becky's life being so short; I have learned a lot from her.
It's the time of year for Christmas music. Last year Annie Lennox released a new Christmas album. Becky LOVED it. It was her very favorite thing to listen to (though she also liked Doctor Horrible's Sing Along Blog, and the Wiggles, this was the number one dance album for her.) This was one of her favorite songs on the album. It's a cool video too, so I'd like to share it with you as I remember her.
Becky left me with a lot of happy memories of the time I had with her, even if it was all in-utero (well, at least most of it. I know she has been with me since then too, but... in different ways.)
She also saved my life, and possibly her sisters'. You see, if I had never been pregnant with her, or had miscarried early on, we would still have been driving our Corolla when we were in our crash. And if she had lived, she would have been in the second row, and me in front on that trip. As it was, we all survived with minor injuries (well, except Maggie, who was completely uninjured becasue she was rear-facing and was protected by that.)
I believe so strongly that she knew what had to happen, and that she made this choice. The only time we could have known exactly what was wrong was during our follow-up high-level ultrasound with Dr. Devore. She was active before and after the ultrasound. During, she took a nap. The knot in her cord was behind her. They poked and prodded and tried to get her to move so they could see the back of the cord, but she just wouldn't. She just didn't move. In the end, they concluded that something was "off" a bit with the cord flow, but since she was growing (she'd jumped from the 15th to the 60th percentile), they were thinking it was okay. If she had moved away, if they had seen the knot behind her, she would have been born by scheduled c-section or emergency c-section if I went into labor. I'd have been upset by that, sure, but I'd have had time to come to terms with it and she would have almost certainly been born healthy. But because of her choice, her actions- it didn't happen that way. And so, because she stayed still when she needed to and did that flip that tightened the knot when she had to, she died just as she was born, and saved me.
Why would she do this? I can only guess that it's because it was necessary for me to stay here. I have work to do. Part of that work is advocating for child passenger safety. I'm a Child Passenger Safety Technician, and have been for about two and a half years now; I'm also currently on the board of Safety Belt Safe USA, an organization which provides education for techs and parents as well as advocating on the state and federal level for improvements in standards, laws, and policies regarding child passenger safety and occupant protection, and advocating for proper use in the media.
I have felt called to this work since I kind of "fell into" it. I have felt like I've found the work I'm meant to do, at least in part. And I feel that Becky's sacrifice for us was in part so that I can continue it- so that, through continued advocacy, spreading the lessons our crash story can teach, and the work I can do to help Safety Belt Safe in their mission, other mamas' babies will be saved.
So in that spirit I'd like to ask three things of you in the next month if you are reading this and care to, to commemorate Becky's life and help me express my gratitude for her gift to us of how she joined our family. They are:
1. Please make sure the children in your care, or those you care for who are in the care of those you can reach with this message (family, friends) are riding as safely as possible in the car. (Let me know if you need information on what that means or how to accomplish it!)
2. Please share my crash story in the link above (there's a brochure ready to print) with at least one person who has a child 12 or under riding in his or her car on a regular basis. This can be via Facebook, email, or by printing out the brochure and handing it to someone.
3. I know budgets are tight, especially this time of year, so this one's the hard one to ask for. If you have a few dollars to spare, even $1, and would like to make a donation in Becky's memory, please consider making a (tax-deductible) donation to Safety Belt Safe. If you go to their website there is a button that says "Make a Donation." Click and a button will pop up. Enter the amount you wish to donate and click "Update Total." Then log in to your paypal account. On the next page, click the button that says "add additional instructions." If you'd like to make your donation in honor of Becky, please write "In memory of " (or "in honor of") "Becky Hamilton." These donations, as a group, will be acknowledged and a little blurb placed in her honor in the January issue of the Safety Belt Safe newsletter. You can also make a donation by check or money order by sending to
SafetyBeltSafe U.S.A., Box 553, Altadena, CA 91003 with a note stating that it is in honor of Becky.
Whether you do any of these things or not, I appreciate your love and support. It would mean a lot to me if you are willing to do any or all of these things for me in memory of Becky, though. Thank you for your friendship.
Showing posts with label love. Show all posts
Showing posts with label love. Show all posts
Monday, November 21, 2011
Sunday, September 25, 2011
Bathing Becky
A friend linked this story (warning: it's about being there at the death of a friend) on someone's blog in a thread on a forum I'm on. The mindfulness of the moment, the sense of it being her job, something about it reminded me powerfully of when my mom came, to be with me and help me get ready while Becky was photographed.
She was covered in meconium. The nurses had given her a quick wipe but then just wrapped her up, not washed her except her face, because they didn't know how soon we would want her. It was the first time I had noticed this, even though I had held her all night, because I had been clinging to her so hard I hadn't even thought to unwrap her.
So my mom went and got a wash basin from the nurses, and some soft washcloths. And she filled it with warm water, and we washed Becky. We first washed her arms, little fingers, carefully cleaning the fingernails and being very, very gentle so as not to bruise her skin. Being careful not to tip her over onto her face, because I had found overnight that her body was already breaking down, and bloody liquid of a nature I didn't want to really think about would ooze from her nose if we did. Then she got some soap and we washed her hair. I reminded my mom that she has been the first one to wash each of my babies' hair, that she is the one who taught me to wash Emma's hair, cradling her over the sink, holding a washcloth over her forehead while pouring water with a cup over the sink to rinse it without getting the shampoo in her eyes. She is the one who first scrubbed cradle cap off Bridget's scalp with me and washed her hair, which was curly and reddish (it isn't any more.) She gave Maggie her first hair wash, too, when she had a diaper blowout at her house that got into her hair. And now she was washing Becky's hair with me. Gently, gently, being so careful of the fontanelle.
We cleaned the folds of her ears too. She has ears like me. I reminded my mom how she had remarked that all our ears are "complicated." I laughed, gently, as if the sound would break her skin too, or possibly just our emotions. I almost felt as if I was not supposed to feel like laughing. But at the same time I knew- yes, I had lost my beloved child, but that did not mean the world was devoid of laughter. She wouldn't want it to have meant that, and I didn't either. My life had changed but it wasn't over yet. Laughter and love go hand in hand.
We wiped her legs and feet. We washed between her toes as well as we could without hurting her- no, she couldn't feel it, but neither of us wanted to hurt her body anyway. We washed her little bottom, and wrapped it in a bit of gauze; she had no diaper, but we wanted to be sure nothing would leak out and mar her dress.
We put her dress on. Her pretty Christmas dress, the one that matched her sisters' (exact match with Bridget's, coordinating with Emma's and Maggie's.) The dress I had bought just in case she came before Christmas. The dress I had planned to put her in for portraits as a family and with her sisters, in their matching dresses. The dress I had stalked ebay for, feeling such joy when I got such good prices on all the dresses. Her arms were stiffer than a newborn's usually are, and yet she did not fight. It was strange how we had to fight her in, but there was no screaming like babies usually make when they get dressed. Almost a cognitive dissonance to dress her and not hear screaming. As we pulled the dress over her head my mom turned it sideways- she knew from experience with my girls (and remarked upon it) that it wouldn't fit without turning it, they get such long heads from Jeff. Maggie was the only one whose head wasn't quite so disproportionately brachiocephalic as a baby. I buttoned the buttons at the neck. She did not hold her head up as we dressed her. It was hard to think that she would never use those strong neck muscles, which I could see were just as unusually strong as the other girls' had been at birth, to look around at me, at her Abba, at Grandma, at a sister.
We put the bow on her head, the bow I had bought in a multi-pack at Target the day I saw it, a bit before Thanksgiving, because I had already bought the Christmas dresses, and the bow headbands for her sisters from Gymboree, and I knew this would perfectly complement her dress and coordinate with theirs. I have used bow headbands with all my girls since Bridget, but usually smaller bows- this was the biggest baby bow I had ever bought, and it was huge on her tiny head. It was flashy and bright and screamed "look at me!" As I put it on I thought of the irony- that bow that I had bought to elicit oohs and aahs from all my baby-loving friends and family would not be worn out to church, to family gatherings, to Christmas dinner. Instead, it would be photographed, and then it would lie in her coffin. I didn't want to think about what would happen to it after that. It was enough that for now, she looked beautiful, and that she got to wear it. It was so important to me that she wear that dress; most of the clothes I had washed and ready for her were ones her sisters had worn, or that I had picked up at the thrift store here and there "for the next baby" and not specifically for HER. This dress and headband were bought just for her. Just for my Becky, after she had a name. One of a set of four, the only single outfit, other than the outfit to go home in that I had bought only for her that was newborn-sized. The most special dress that I had spent hours deliberating over and shopping for. This was the outfit I had chosen with love, and now it was wrapping her cold little body, the warm fleece soft against my skin, my love wrapped around her, my mom helping me dress her.
My mom asked if I knew what color her eyes were. I didn't. I didn't look and I didn't want to. She was born asleep, her eyes closed, her heart done beating when the cord was cut, no energy to ever open them again. I wanted to leave her with that peace, and leave peace in my heart, not open her eyes and see them without life behind them, or risk bruising the delicate, purple-veined eyelids. I'm sure they were blue-grey; all my babies have had blue-grey eyes of various shades. I didn't need to disturb her to know the color. My mom agreed. Perhaps they were more blue than grey, as she was my blondest baby yet, with the sparsest hair. My mom said her hair was just like mine when I was born; it would have been curly, very curly, as it grew out.
And then we took photographs. Once we were done we wrapped her back up. She had to go down to the morgue. No one ever said morgue. They just said that it was time to take her downstairs, and that we could hold her again later before she left. They didn't say before the hearse came to pick her up but that is what they meant. And they meant morgue. I almost wished they would say morgue. They were trying to be gentle but I know what a morgue is. I know that they refrigerate bodies so they don't deteriorate as fast. I knew they would put my baby in a metal tray in the refrigerated wall. I hoped they would leave her in her bassinet, the bassinet that someone had made up for a living baby and which held her body instead, instead of putting her directly on the cold hard metal. But I didn't ask. I knew the nurses I was talking to were not the technicians who would be responsible, so I felt I shouldn't put my wants onto them. And I winced as the nurse tenderly, lovingly laid a blanket over her bassinet before wheeling her down the hall to be handed off to the assistant who would take her to the morgue. But I didn't say anything. I recognized, even in my grief and my outrage that she had to be hidden from view, covered, just to walk down the hall where babies were wheeled down all the time, that the sight of her might upset other mothers, and that I didn't really want to do that. No, it wasn't fair that my baby was dead and theirs were alive, but it was how it was.
That's the thing about Becky. That's the blessing of her life, the blessing she gave me. She is a teacher. That is her mission, I feel that so strongly. In saving my life in our crash, by her refusal to let us see the knot in her cord, by joining our family knowing that she would never get to meet us until our mortal lives are done so that the greater purpose could be served, she gave me the opportunity to teach, to spread the story in ways that may well save other mommies' babies' lives. And she's taught me more compassion. I like to think I was not devoid of it before, but in my grief, even in those first few days, I knew that MY wants and needs were not all that mattered. That I was not alone, not isolated. I knew that I was part of a long experience of the human race, death and life, in a way that I had never felt before. She gave me that. She has taught me to love better, forgive more readily, enjoy my life, be more patient, and find friendship, love, comfort of the Holy Ghost and strength even when my world may be crashing down around me. She's taught me that I can live through my greatest fears. And I know that she's got more to teach. That's my Becky. And one day I'll tell her how glad I am that she's my daughter, and how proud I am of her, face to face.
She was covered in meconium. The nurses had given her a quick wipe but then just wrapped her up, not washed her except her face, because they didn't know how soon we would want her. It was the first time I had noticed this, even though I had held her all night, because I had been clinging to her so hard I hadn't even thought to unwrap her.
So my mom went and got a wash basin from the nurses, and some soft washcloths. And she filled it with warm water, and we washed Becky. We first washed her arms, little fingers, carefully cleaning the fingernails and being very, very gentle so as not to bruise her skin. Being careful not to tip her over onto her face, because I had found overnight that her body was already breaking down, and bloody liquid of a nature I didn't want to really think about would ooze from her nose if we did. Then she got some soap and we washed her hair. I reminded my mom that she has been the first one to wash each of my babies' hair, that she is the one who taught me to wash Emma's hair, cradling her over the sink, holding a washcloth over her forehead while pouring water with a cup over the sink to rinse it without getting the shampoo in her eyes. She is the one who first scrubbed cradle cap off Bridget's scalp with me and washed her hair, which was curly and reddish (it isn't any more.) She gave Maggie her first hair wash, too, when she had a diaper blowout at her house that got into her hair. And now she was washing Becky's hair with me. Gently, gently, being so careful of the fontanelle.
We cleaned the folds of her ears too. She has ears like me. I reminded my mom how she had remarked that all our ears are "complicated." I laughed, gently, as if the sound would break her skin too, or possibly just our emotions. I almost felt as if I was not supposed to feel like laughing. But at the same time I knew- yes, I had lost my beloved child, but that did not mean the world was devoid of laughter. She wouldn't want it to have meant that, and I didn't either. My life had changed but it wasn't over yet. Laughter and love go hand in hand.
We wiped her legs and feet. We washed between her toes as well as we could without hurting her- no, she couldn't feel it, but neither of us wanted to hurt her body anyway. We washed her little bottom, and wrapped it in a bit of gauze; she had no diaper, but we wanted to be sure nothing would leak out and mar her dress.
We put her dress on. Her pretty Christmas dress, the one that matched her sisters' (exact match with Bridget's, coordinating with Emma's and Maggie's.) The dress I had bought just in case she came before Christmas. The dress I had planned to put her in for portraits as a family and with her sisters, in their matching dresses. The dress I had stalked ebay for, feeling such joy when I got such good prices on all the dresses. Her arms were stiffer than a newborn's usually are, and yet she did not fight. It was strange how we had to fight her in, but there was no screaming like babies usually make when they get dressed. Almost a cognitive dissonance to dress her and not hear screaming. As we pulled the dress over her head my mom turned it sideways- she knew from experience with my girls (and remarked upon it) that it wouldn't fit without turning it, they get such long heads from Jeff. Maggie was the only one whose head wasn't quite so disproportionately brachiocephalic as a baby. I buttoned the buttons at the neck. She did not hold her head up as we dressed her. It was hard to think that she would never use those strong neck muscles, which I could see were just as unusually strong as the other girls' had been at birth, to look around at me, at her Abba, at Grandma, at a sister.
We put the bow on her head, the bow I had bought in a multi-pack at Target the day I saw it, a bit before Thanksgiving, because I had already bought the Christmas dresses, and the bow headbands for her sisters from Gymboree, and I knew this would perfectly complement her dress and coordinate with theirs. I have used bow headbands with all my girls since Bridget, but usually smaller bows- this was the biggest baby bow I had ever bought, and it was huge on her tiny head. It was flashy and bright and screamed "look at me!" As I put it on I thought of the irony- that bow that I had bought to elicit oohs and aahs from all my baby-loving friends and family would not be worn out to church, to family gatherings, to Christmas dinner. Instead, it would be photographed, and then it would lie in her coffin. I didn't want to think about what would happen to it after that. It was enough that for now, she looked beautiful, and that she got to wear it. It was so important to me that she wear that dress; most of the clothes I had washed and ready for her were ones her sisters had worn, or that I had picked up at the thrift store here and there "for the next baby" and not specifically for HER. This dress and headband were bought just for her. Just for my Becky, after she had a name. One of a set of four, the only single outfit, other than the outfit to go home in that I had bought only for her that was newborn-sized. The most special dress that I had spent hours deliberating over and shopping for. This was the outfit I had chosen with love, and now it was wrapping her cold little body, the warm fleece soft against my skin, my love wrapped around her, my mom helping me dress her.
My mom asked if I knew what color her eyes were. I didn't. I didn't look and I didn't want to. She was born asleep, her eyes closed, her heart done beating when the cord was cut, no energy to ever open them again. I wanted to leave her with that peace, and leave peace in my heart, not open her eyes and see them without life behind them, or risk bruising the delicate, purple-veined eyelids. I'm sure they were blue-grey; all my babies have had blue-grey eyes of various shades. I didn't need to disturb her to know the color. My mom agreed. Perhaps they were more blue than grey, as she was my blondest baby yet, with the sparsest hair. My mom said her hair was just like mine when I was born; it would have been curly, very curly, as it grew out.
And then we took photographs. Once we were done we wrapped her back up. She had to go down to the morgue. No one ever said morgue. They just said that it was time to take her downstairs, and that we could hold her again later before she left. They didn't say before the hearse came to pick her up but that is what they meant. And they meant morgue. I almost wished they would say morgue. They were trying to be gentle but I know what a morgue is. I know that they refrigerate bodies so they don't deteriorate as fast. I knew they would put my baby in a metal tray in the refrigerated wall. I hoped they would leave her in her bassinet, the bassinet that someone had made up for a living baby and which held her body instead, instead of putting her directly on the cold hard metal. But I didn't ask. I knew the nurses I was talking to were not the technicians who would be responsible, so I felt I shouldn't put my wants onto them. And I winced as the nurse tenderly, lovingly laid a blanket over her bassinet before wheeling her down the hall to be handed off to the assistant who would take her to the morgue. But I didn't say anything. I recognized, even in my grief and my outrage that she had to be hidden from view, covered, just to walk down the hall where babies were wheeled down all the time, that the sight of her might upset other mothers, and that I didn't really want to do that. No, it wasn't fair that my baby was dead and theirs were alive, but it was how it was.
That's the thing about Becky. That's the blessing of her life, the blessing she gave me. She is a teacher. That is her mission, I feel that so strongly. In saving my life in our crash, by her refusal to let us see the knot in her cord, by joining our family knowing that she would never get to meet us until our mortal lives are done so that the greater purpose could be served, she gave me the opportunity to teach, to spread the story in ways that may well save other mommies' babies' lives. And she's taught me more compassion. I like to think I was not devoid of it before, but in my grief, even in those first few days, I knew that MY wants and needs were not all that mattered. That I was not alone, not isolated. I knew that I was part of a long experience of the human race, death and life, in a way that I had never felt before. She gave me that. She has taught me to love better, forgive more readily, enjoy my life, be more patient, and find friendship, love, comfort of the Holy Ghost and strength even when my world may be crashing down around me. She's taught me that I can live through my greatest fears. And I know that she's got more to teach. That's my Becky. And one day I'll tell her how glad I am that she's my daughter, and how proud I am of her, face to face.
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
Counting Blessings
I'm feeling blessed tonight. So, I'm counting my blessings.
Jeff, who is being pretty incredible lately (not that he isn't always.) Three girls with me to make me laugh and smile. Becky looking out for us as she waits for us to join her.
A big comfortable house to live in. Enough food to thrive on. A fairly healthy body that should be able to safely bring more babies to our family to bless us. A doctor who supports that desire and will help me do that the way I want to.
A family that doesn't judge or chastise but just lovingly supports even when I'm not at my best. Friends who love me for who I am and give of themselves in ways I'd never ask.
Faith that even though I'm not good enough, that gap between the self I am and the self I can be will be bridged by grace, and my efforts will be helped. Love, lots of love. Divine love, familial love, true, deep love from Jeff, love of friends.
Opportunities to make a difference, to help change things for the better for others. Wonderful discussions with others who share the same work.
A brain capable of learning and deciding to do things better every day. A mouth capable of talking to teach and share with others. Eyes that can see beauty all around me. Ears to hear music, music that can touch me.
Life. I love life. Faith to not fear death. Peace in my heart knowing that those I love who pass out of life are safe.
So much I can't even write it all. Love, love, love, at the center of it all.
Jeff, who is being pretty incredible lately (not that he isn't always.) Three girls with me to make me laugh and smile. Becky looking out for us as she waits for us to join her.
A big comfortable house to live in. Enough food to thrive on. A fairly healthy body that should be able to safely bring more babies to our family to bless us. A doctor who supports that desire and will help me do that the way I want to.
A family that doesn't judge or chastise but just lovingly supports even when I'm not at my best. Friends who love me for who I am and give of themselves in ways I'd never ask.
Faith that even though I'm not good enough, that gap between the self I am and the self I can be will be bridged by grace, and my efforts will be helped. Love, lots of love. Divine love, familial love, true, deep love from Jeff, love of friends.
Opportunities to make a difference, to help change things for the better for others. Wonderful discussions with others who share the same work.
A brain capable of learning and deciding to do things better every day. A mouth capable of talking to teach and share with others. Eyes that can see beauty all around me. Ears to hear music, music that can touch me.
Life. I love life. Faith to not fear death. Peace in my heart knowing that those I love who pass out of life are safe.
So much I can't even write it all. Love, love, love, at the center of it all.
Tuesday, June 02, 2009
A Butterfly Song by Emma
Emma is running around naked, with her towel spread out as "butterfly wings," and singing a song. She runs and hugs and cuddles Maggie and then goes away again, all the while singing:
I am a butterfly
I love you so
I warm you up
Holding you close to my heart.
I am a beautiful butterfly
See my wings open and close
My beautiful wings
See? They are green wings.
I am a butterfly
I cozy you up to warm you up
I kiss you and love you
I am a beautiful butterfly.
I am a beautiful butterfly
I once was a caterpillar
Now I am a butterfly
A beautiful butterfly with wings.
I am a butterfly
I kiss you and cuddle you
I warm you up with my wings
And then I go away.
I fold my wings and hold them close
My green butterfly wings
I am a beautiful butterfly
And I know butterfly songs.
I fly around on my wings
I am a butterfly
A beautiful butterfly
And I make you warm.
Isn't that lovely? I thought it was very sweet.
Then she fell down and started screaming. Oh, well.
I am a butterfly
I love you so
I warm you up
Holding you close to my heart.
I am a beautiful butterfly
See my wings open and close
My beautiful wings
See? They are green wings.
I am a butterfly
I cozy you up to warm you up
I kiss you and love you
I am a beautiful butterfly.
I am a beautiful butterfly
I once was a caterpillar
Now I am a butterfly
A beautiful butterfly with wings.
I am a butterfly
I kiss you and cuddle you
I warm you up with my wings
And then I go away.
I fold my wings and hold them close
My green butterfly wings
I am a beautiful butterfly
And I know butterfly songs.
I fly around on my wings
I am a butterfly
A beautiful butterfly
And I make you warm.
Isn't that lovely? I thought it was very sweet.
Then she fell down and started screaming. Oh, well.
Thursday, November 27, 2008
And right now I am thankful...
...to get out of my clothes and into my nightie and lay down!
We had a great dinner with my mom. The kids actually took to heart my talk in the car about being polite and did it! Even Bridget, who I thought was not listening because she didn't say "Okay" like Emma did, instead asking questions about things we were driving past. She must have been listening because she spent the entire dinner asking people how they were doing, did they like their dinner, and how was their day going? LOL!
We got to see my aunt and uncle, my sister Erin, she brought her friend and her friend's 11 year old son, and my grandma was also there. And of course my mom, since it was at her house. :) And the food was great of course! The girls ate very well, and Maggie had a jar of sweet potatoes and some finely-chopped turkey, as well as some Gerber apple wheel snacks. She was very tired and finally conked out, and I even got her to sleep for a while in the play pen.
I got some pics of the girls in their cute jumpers (they all wore jumpers with white long sleeved blouses this year, a very classic look and allowed them to "coordinate" without matching at all.) And Emma even got one of me! But I do not feel like pulling them off now-- so I will try to post them tomorrow or the next day. My aunt gave them markers (washable of course!) and note pads. They adored them. My sister gave us some Shel Silverstein cds the library was getting rid of. My aunt also gave us a pretty dress for Maggie; it's 24 mos. but I think it will fit in a month or 2 because she is so LONG!
For now I am grateful for a nice evening with my wonderful family, my kids and their wonderful behavior (they made me look good for once ;) ) and the blessings of the bounty of food we have, the shelter we enjoy, and the ability to buy clothes for my kids and even get them new ones for Thanksgiving. I just got a new picture of my sponsored child, with his cleft lip repaired, and it is kind of making me reflect on how much I take for granted in being able to provide for my children. And also, that I can now veg out instead of cleaning up since I didn't host Thanksgiving!
Hope everyone had a good one. Happy Thanksgiving!
We had a great dinner with my mom. The kids actually took to heart my talk in the car about being polite and did it! Even Bridget, who I thought was not listening because she didn't say "Okay" like Emma did, instead asking questions about things we were driving past. She must have been listening because she spent the entire dinner asking people how they were doing, did they like their dinner, and how was their day going? LOL!
We got to see my aunt and uncle, my sister Erin, she brought her friend and her friend's 11 year old son, and my grandma was also there. And of course my mom, since it was at her house. :) And the food was great of course! The girls ate very well, and Maggie had a jar of sweet potatoes and some finely-chopped turkey, as well as some Gerber apple wheel snacks. She was very tired and finally conked out, and I even got her to sleep for a while in the play pen.
I got some pics of the girls in their cute jumpers (they all wore jumpers with white long sleeved blouses this year, a very classic look and allowed them to "coordinate" without matching at all.) And Emma even got one of me! But I do not feel like pulling them off now-- so I will try to post them tomorrow or the next day. My aunt gave them markers (washable of course!) and note pads. They adored them. My sister gave us some Shel Silverstein cds the library was getting rid of. My aunt also gave us a pretty dress for Maggie; it's 24 mos. but I think it will fit in a month or 2 because she is so LONG!
For now I am grateful for a nice evening with my wonderful family, my kids and their wonderful behavior (they made me look good for once ;) ) and the blessings of the bounty of food we have, the shelter we enjoy, and the ability to buy clothes for my kids and even get them new ones for Thanksgiving. I just got a new picture of my sponsored child, with his cleft lip repaired, and it is kind of making me reflect on how much I take for granted in being able to provide for my children. And also, that I can now veg out instead of cleaning up since I didn't host Thanksgiving!
Hope everyone had a good one. Happy Thanksgiving!
Sunday, April 27, 2008
Doing somewhat better, but still missing my baby.
That's right folks, she didn't come home today. Her bilirubin was a bit lower this morning, down to 10.9 from 11.6, but not low enough to get off the bililights. I went in at 9 and fed her, and my did that feel good. The milk that had come in yesterday but not come HARD in, meaning it was still at pretty low levels all day and night (which was kinda a blessing in disguise last night, I only had to express a few drops once for comfort, so I only have to suffer one real night of engorgement), suddenly let down and soaked through my nightgown at 7:30 in the morning. All of a sudden engorgement came on hard and fast, and I was harassing everyone to get ready NOW because I could not stand much more of this and Maggie REALLY needed to eat!
We went to the hospital, kids' breakfast in hand, and they set us up in LDR 1, which is the labor/delivery/recovery room right next to the nursery. Since it's down a hallway and away from the other rooms it is the last LDR room they fill, for the nurses' convenience, and it also happens to be slightly bigger and nicer than the rest! Since Sunday is a slow day for LDR rooms, it was a convenient empty space, and it was designated "our" room for the day as long as no one else needed it. We weren't allowed to touch the bed or use the bathroom, which have to be kept ready in case a patient needs to use it, but we were allowed to use the chairs and such, and of course since Maggie is still not discharged we could ask at the nursery for anything we needed for her-- they are still providing the diapers, wipes, any formula she needs (now that my milk had come in we'd switched from supplementing every other feeding to offering formula if she is still hungry after emptying both breasts, just to make sure she gets as much fluid to clear that bilirubin as possible.) It's nice not to have to worry about that.
We moved chairs from the table that sits in LDR 1, sat the kids down with cartoons in front of the tv, and that kept them occupied for a while, but they were just way wound up. We decided that staying in the room with Maggie with the kids running wild while patients were trying to rest(and me fretting about what her level would be) was counter-productive, and once I'd seen and held her for a while (she ate for almost an hour-- good baby-holding time) I felt better, not so clingy and anxious, so we told them we were going to take the kids out for a walk and would be back, since all Maggie would be doing was sleeping anyway. They told us that the doctor would be in in about an hour at that point and to call then to find out what was going on. So we went down to the Farmer's Market/Family Fun Fair they hold on Sundays down in Montrose, just a few blocks from the hospital, which normally we would never ever do on Sunday-- but we really needed occupation for the sake of all our sanity while Jeff and I worried about Maggie, and the activity was good for the kids, who were hyper as all get-out. We walked around, and Emma requested "When the Saints Go Marching In" from the Dixieland band that was playing (they are probably heartily sick of that song but I didn't think they would mind a request from a four-year-old-- they didn't-- and she really loves that song, she danced and looked so thrilled to hear it that it made them all grin and smile.)
When that was done we got some drinks and sat in the shade (it was HOT), and Jeff called the hospital just in time to catch the doctor. He explained that her bilirubin was too high still, and that it was still in the high risk zone-- BUT that it was down a bit, not rising, and so that was a good thing. He also explained that even if she had the exact same level tomorrow, she would be out of the high risk zone, and able to go home, because of the older age! So I was almost crying that she would stay another night-- but happy that we were pretty much guaranteed to take her home the next day.
Then we went back, got settled, and I fed her again. Jeff took the kids home for a nap, which they took, and I stayed all day in LDR 1, just nursing Maggie. In between nursing she was able to be in the room with me, in the bilibed (which, btw, is a Medela Bilibed, complete with little sleeper-type cover featuring a duck-- pictures have been taken, of course, and you will see her in it eventually; sorry, not up to that quite yet, probably tomorrow) and I laid back on the recliner (the same type that Jeff napped in while I was in labor, the one intended for the support person, so pretty cushy and comfortable.) I actually got several hours of sleep between feedings that way-- which really, really helped, I have to say. Lack of sleep and food due to anxiety was part of my problem last night, I think. After naps Jeff took the kids over to my mom's, then came to see us at the hospital. I fed Maggie one more time before dinner, and then we went to my mom's house for dinner. She had asked me what I would like and I told her pot roast, so she made me pot roast. I love my mommy. She also made an orange cake because Emma had asked for it, and she made applesauce jell-o (minus apple chunks, with strawberry jell-o and cinnamon applesauce) which we used to bribe Emma to finish ALL of her pot roast, potatoes, carrots, and most of her salad, plus a few bites of biscuit. I was amazed! I had thought she was going to be picky, but the wonders applesauce jell-o will do...
Then all of a sudden my milk came in hard again. Every time that had happened all day it had meant Maggie was about to wake up and be ready to eat. We hustled out but it was ten minutes by the time we left (because the kids unexpectedly wanted to come right then instead of staying with my mom and going home with Jeff after he dropped me), and had been almost half an hour when we got there. Sure enough, she was hungry! Apparently she had NOT been behaving for the nurses, oops! She had cried and cried and only taken 20 ccs of formula despite acting VERY hungry. As soon as I got her in my arms, though, the crying stopped cold! Before I even lifted my shirt she opened her eyes wide and looked contentedly at me! I guess she just wanted her mama-- which made me feel very, very good. I know it's irrational but I had been feeling like a failure because my milk hadn't come in the day before (which had more to do with her being too lethargic from the jaundice to be nursing well than anything I could do) and I think feeling like anyone could take care of her at least as well as I could because she had to be in the nursery all night. It felt really, really good to have that confirmation that I, as her mother, was not only important but ESSENTIAL to her, that she knew me, and that she preferred me to someone else! To make me feel even better, the nurse said that in the last 12 hours she had gained 1/2 an ounce! Yay, all that milk was doing something! And she had just had a VERY green poop (green poop is a good sign in jaundiced babies because it means they're breaking down and passing the bilirubin.) Anyway, she nursed REALLY well, twice in a row, and then settled in. (In the meantime, Jeff and the kids went home after everyone said "goodnight" to Maggie and gave her kisses. I got hugs and kisses, too.) I took one more nap, then nursed her once more (and called my mom), then got her all burped, settled in, and when my mom called to say she was there, I kissed Maggie once more, left her at the nursery, and went down and my mom drove me home. (She also brought us leftovers. Which was nice of her.) And I didn't even cry (although I did a bit later, with Jeff.)
Anyway, the plan is for me to get through tonight as best I can, express some milk as necessary (and maybe get enough to make it worth freezing), hopefully even sleep a couple of hours (although I really don't know if I can manage it without Maggie), and then all get up early, get ready, call the hospital to find out when she ate, and get there in time to give her her next feeding. Then hang around (although again I may stay there and have Jeff take the girls somewhere-- Montrose is right there and the shopping district includes a toy store that allows touching and playing with floor models, and a very cool kids' book store, among other things they might like, or there's even a kids' play area in the ER waiting room they might enjoy), and wait for the doctor to come and tell us it's okay to take our baby home! (It's extremely, extremely unlikely that her level will be even as high as it was today, considering all that green poop, frequent nursing, and the fact that she looks less orange than she did yesterday! But even if it was as high as long as it had not climbed a couple of points we would be good to take her home!) I am just praying that everything works well because we want her with us!
We went to the hospital, kids' breakfast in hand, and they set us up in LDR 1, which is the labor/delivery/recovery room right next to the nursery. Since it's down a hallway and away from the other rooms it is the last LDR room they fill, for the nurses' convenience, and it also happens to be slightly bigger and nicer than the rest! Since Sunday is a slow day for LDR rooms, it was a convenient empty space, and it was designated "our" room for the day as long as no one else needed it. We weren't allowed to touch the bed or use the bathroom, which have to be kept ready in case a patient needs to use it, but we were allowed to use the chairs and such, and of course since Maggie is still not discharged we could ask at the nursery for anything we needed for her-- they are still providing the diapers, wipes, any formula she needs (now that my milk had come in we'd switched from supplementing every other feeding to offering formula if she is still hungry after emptying both breasts, just to make sure she gets as much fluid to clear that bilirubin as possible.) It's nice not to have to worry about that.
We moved chairs from the table that sits in LDR 1, sat the kids down with cartoons in front of the tv, and that kept them occupied for a while, but they were just way wound up. We decided that staying in the room with Maggie with the kids running wild while patients were trying to rest(and me fretting about what her level would be) was counter-productive, and once I'd seen and held her for a while (she ate for almost an hour-- good baby-holding time) I felt better, not so clingy and anxious, so we told them we were going to take the kids out for a walk and would be back, since all Maggie would be doing was sleeping anyway. They told us that the doctor would be in in about an hour at that point and to call then to find out what was going on. So we went down to the Farmer's Market/Family Fun Fair they hold on Sundays down in Montrose, just a few blocks from the hospital, which normally we would never ever do on Sunday-- but we really needed occupation for the sake of all our sanity while Jeff and I worried about Maggie, and the activity was good for the kids, who were hyper as all get-out. We walked around, and Emma requested "When the Saints Go Marching In" from the Dixieland band that was playing (they are probably heartily sick of that song but I didn't think they would mind a request from a four-year-old-- they didn't-- and she really loves that song, she danced and looked so thrilled to hear it that it made them all grin and smile.)
When that was done we got some drinks and sat in the shade (it was HOT), and Jeff called the hospital just in time to catch the doctor. He explained that her bilirubin was too high still, and that it was still in the high risk zone-- BUT that it was down a bit, not rising, and so that was a good thing. He also explained that even if she had the exact same level tomorrow, she would be out of the high risk zone, and able to go home, because of the older age! So I was almost crying that she would stay another night-- but happy that we were pretty much guaranteed to take her home the next day.
Then we went back, got settled, and I fed her again. Jeff took the kids home for a nap, which they took, and I stayed all day in LDR 1, just nursing Maggie. In between nursing she was able to be in the room with me, in the bilibed (which, btw, is a Medela Bilibed, complete with little sleeper-type cover featuring a duck-- pictures have been taken, of course, and you will see her in it eventually; sorry, not up to that quite yet, probably tomorrow) and I laid back on the recliner (the same type that Jeff napped in while I was in labor, the one intended for the support person, so pretty cushy and comfortable.) I actually got several hours of sleep between feedings that way-- which really, really helped, I have to say. Lack of sleep and food due to anxiety was part of my problem last night, I think. After naps Jeff took the kids over to my mom's, then came to see us at the hospital. I fed Maggie one more time before dinner, and then we went to my mom's house for dinner. She had asked me what I would like and I told her pot roast, so she made me pot roast. I love my mommy. She also made an orange cake because Emma had asked for it, and she made applesauce jell-o (minus apple chunks, with strawberry jell-o and cinnamon applesauce) which we used to bribe Emma to finish ALL of her pot roast, potatoes, carrots, and most of her salad, plus a few bites of biscuit. I was amazed! I had thought she was going to be picky, but the wonders applesauce jell-o will do...
Then all of a sudden my milk came in hard again. Every time that had happened all day it had meant Maggie was about to wake up and be ready to eat. We hustled out but it was ten minutes by the time we left (because the kids unexpectedly wanted to come right then instead of staying with my mom and going home with Jeff after he dropped me), and had been almost half an hour when we got there. Sure enough, she was hungry! Apparently she had NOT been behaving for the nurses, oops! She had cried and cried and only taken 20 ccs of formula despite acting VERY hungry. As soon as I got her in my arms, though, the crying stopped cold! Before I even lifted my shirt she opened her eyes wide and looked contentedly at me! I guess she just wanted her mama-- which made me feel very, very good. I know it's irrational but I had been feeling like a failure because my milk hadn't come in the day before (which had more to do with her being too lethargic from the jaundice to be nursing well than anything I could do) and I think feeling like anyone could take care of her at least as well as I could because she had to be in the nursery all night. It felt really, really good to have that confirmation that I, as her mother, was not only important but ESSENTIAL to her, that she knew me, and that she preferred me to someone else! To make me feel even better, the nurse said that in the last 12 hours she had gained 1/2 an ounce! Yay, all that milk was doing something! And she had just had a VERY green poop (green poop is a good sign in jaundiced babies because it means they're breaking down and passing the bilirubin.) Anyway, she nursed REALLY well, twice in a row, and then settled in. (In the meantime, Jeff and the kids went home after everyone said "goodnight" to Maggie and gave her kisses. I got hugs and kisses, too.) I took one more nap, then nursed her once more (and called my mom), then got her all burped, settled in, and when my mom called to say she was there, I kissed Maggie once more, left her at the nursery, and went down and my mom drove me home. (She also brought us leftovers. Which was nice of her.) And I didn't even cry (although I did a bit later, with Jeff.)
Anyway, the plan is for me to get through tonight as best I can, express some milk as necessary (and maybe get enough to make it worth freezing), hopefully even sleep a couple of hours (although I really don't know if I can manage it without Maggie), and then all get up early, get ready, call the hospital to find out when she ate, and get there in time to give her her next feeding. Then hang around (although again I may stay there and have Jeff take the girls somewhere-- Montrose is right there and the shopping district includes a toy store that allows touching and playing with floor models, and a very cool kids' book store, among other things they might like, or there's even a kids' play area in the ER waiting room they might enjoy), and wait for the doctor to come and tell us it's okay to take our baby home! (It's extremely, extremely unlikely that her level will be even as high as it was today, considering all that green poop, frequent nursing, and the fact that she looks less orange than she did yesterday! But even if it was as high as long as it had not climbed a couple of points we would be good to take her home!) I am just praying that everything works well because we want her with us!
Thursday, June 21, 2007
Four Years
It was four years ago today that Jeff and I were sealed in the Los Angeles Temple, for time and all eternity. We have had ups and downs, but even the downs were bearable, because we were together.
After becoming pen pals through ldsfriends.org, we felt a connection. He gave me his phone number, I called (his mom picked up! He was sick! And I scolded him not to eat cookies when he was sick!) A few months later he came out to visit. And the rest has been not about him or me, but about us. Us apart, then finally together. Soon us and Emma, then us, Emma and Bridget. And through it all it just gets better. We have both changed, but I can honestly say that he, at least, has changed for the better. More mature, more responsible, but still hard-working, with a sense of fun, still attractive and gentle and loving and lovable and wonderful. I love to see him with our girls, the way he cares for, teaches, plays with them. I am prouder than ever of him for working to support us while simultaneously working to finish his degree-- and maintaining a B+ average! I'm proud that he has learned to do things for the girls and even a little bit of cooking; he's also taught me a lot. He's helped me control my temper better, helped me realize when I need to curb certain behaviors, and he's even taught me a few sports terms. ;) So we've grown together instead of apart, and our love has grown too, encompassing our children and still increasing toward each other every day.
What a good choice it was to write him back when he e-mailed me-- even if he was tired and I thought he must be a bit dumb at the time! (I was so very wrong on that count.) I'm so glad to have him in my life.
Happy anniversary, darling.
After becoming pen pals through ldsfriends.org, we felt a connection. He gave me his phone number, I called (his mom picked up! He was sick! And I scolded him not to eat cookies when he was sick!) A few months later he came out to visit. And the rest has been not about him or me, but about us. Us apart, then finally together. Soon us and Emma, then us, Emma and Bridget. And through it all it just gets better. We have both changed, but I can honestly say that he, at least, has changed for the better. More mature, more responsible, but still hard-working, with a sense of fun, still attractive and gentle and loving and lovable and wonderful. I love to see him with our girls, the way he cares for, teaches, plays with them. I am prouder than ever of him for working to support us while simultaneously working to finish his degree-- and maintaining a B+ average! I'm proud that he has learned to do things for the girls and even a little bit of cooking; he's also taught me a lot. He's helped me control my temper better, helped me realize when I need to curb certain behaviors, and he's even taught me a few sports terms. ;) So we've grown together instead of apart, and our love has grown too, encompassing our children and still increasing toward each other every day.
What a good choice it was to write him back when he e-mailed me-- even if he was tired and I thought he must be a bit dumb at the time! (I was so very wrong on that count.) I'm so glad to have him in my life.
Happy anniversary, darling.
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