Already Four Months

Over the weekend, Nora became a four-month-old, and I just can't believe it. In some ways, I can't even remember what life was like before her -- like she's been here all along. But in other ways, it feels like she can't possibly be four months already -- she was "just" born!

Adjusting to life with a newborn/infant is never easy for us, but the change from two children to three has been significantly less difficult than when we went from one to two. Mostly I think it's because of the bigger age gap. The older girls are a lot more self-sufficient at six and four than Hope was as a two-year-old when Paige was born. That being said, four-year-olds and six-year-olds are still children with a lot of needs and there are moments I find myself completely overwhelmed with the neediness and noise of three voices at once.

But all the stress I feel vanishes when Nora gives her big sisters a big gummy smile. And after a middle of the night feeding when she's sleeping against my shoulder, I sniff in her baby head and life feels incredibly peaceful.

It is hard to imagine what our lives will look like as the girls get older. I can't picture having a ten-year-old, fourteen-year-old, and sixteen-year-old. I can't even picture having a two-year-old, six-year-old, and eight-year-old. But even though I can't imagine the future, I can see pretty clearly right now, and it is good. It is very good.

For as much as I find to complain about (hello snow and ice on November 10th, I am looking at YOU), I am feeling incredibly grateful right now. This family? This is my family. These three girls? These are my three girls.

It certainly has been an amazing four months.

xoxo, christine

Do You Wanna Build a Snowman?

Because you probably can tomorrow.

It's November. Which pretty much means it's practically winter. It might sound a little pessimistic, but if you live in Minnesota you know. We pretty much get Summer, Spring, and Fall for two months each and the other six months are winter.

We're definitely on the down slide of fall.

Although I am a lover of the Christmas season, I am so not ready for winter. My anti-winter flag is flying high right now. I'm afraid Mother nature hasn't gotten my memo though. Apparently we're supposed to get 74310387410 inches of snow tomorrow.

Yeah, I'm not really looking forward to getting Hope on the bus and driving Paige to school, all while lugging Nora in her car seat, in first season snow. On the plus side (is there a plus side?) the girls will probably be thrilled to see snow tomorrow morning, so I can attempt to piggyback off their excitement.

I keep peaking out the window to catch a glimpse of the first flakes. I'm kinda hoping that the meteorologists got it totally wrong and we end up getting nothing. Or just a light dusting.

Or, we'll just be able to build a huge snowman tomorrow.

xoxo, christine

Sanctuary! Give me Sanctuary!

I am in the bathroom. Hiding from my baby.

Who does that?

With guilt above and beyond, I am sitting on the side of the tub, listening to my six-year-old and four-year-old successfully entertain their baby sister.

There is little time left for this day to redeem itself, and with the toilet as my current view, it's not looking promising.

I'm not sure what happened, but exhaustion hit me hard this afternoon and Nora decided to make this one of her Cat Nap days. Which maybe wouldn't be so horrible except that she cries bloody murder for about twenty minutes straight before she falls asleep. And then she sleeps for about five minutes before waking up and screaming again.

The emotions of this day came out of nowhere, and I'm feeling the shame and guilt like a big weighted winter coat.

But it's okay. (Right?) I am getting a few moments to myself. And my children are playing happily on the floor together. Maybe Nora needed a break from me as much as I needed one from her.

Perhaps I'll give myself another minute or two. I'm in the bathroom, I might as well pluck my eyebrows or something.

::deep breaths:: xoxo, christine

There's A Storm Brewing

I am sitting in a coffee shop. Writing. By myself. Enjoying an occasional sip on my sweet mocha. The place buzzes with conversation. Men in business suits type furiously in the corner, two women embrace before settling into their table to catch up. A man whose long white beard is suspiciously familiar, bobs his head to music, his eyes and concentration focused on his laptop. Perhaps he is making a list. Even checking it twice.

The hum of the espresso machines and the hiss of froth coming from behind the counter provide the percussion to the orchestra of noises in this busy place. But it is not distracting. As I settle in to this Me Time, it feels invigorating to be here, alone, yet full of people.

The energy radiating here takes me by surprise. Crowds and too many people usually give me pause, increasing my anxiety, and deep deep desire to be home curled up on my couch. It is enough for me to wonder if I am maybe not getting out of the house enough.

I am currently on a quest, propelled by this unsettled and cloudy feeling I've had lately. I detect the distant roll of thunder, perhaps a glimmer of lightening too, but I can't quite make out where the storm is coming from... or if it is a storm to be feared or eagerly anticipated.

As a girl I loved thunderstorms. I remember laying on our living room floor, staring upside down out the window mesmerized by the bolts lighting up the sky. Somewhere between that adventurous child and this frazzled mom, thunderstorms became less of a wonder and more of a worry. They bring me more fear as an adult than I ever remember having as a kid.

And I wonder, where did that audacious girl go?

Is her loss a natural consequence of growing older? Or is my memory of her distorted by distance and melancholy?

Have I completely lost that wonder and excitement for adventure? Can it be rediscovered?

I don't know exactly where to start this expedition into who I am and what I want with this life, but there is an urgency settling in, tingling my toes as it makes its way up, encouraging me to move, explore, investigate.

Is it a mid-life crisis? The battle cry of the frazzled mother?

Perhaps it is the wisdom that comes with time. That surly there is so much to this life to be explored. So much to enjoy. So much to seek out and discover. So much that I can contribute.

So let it begin. Let me begin. Here. Right now. Alone in a coffee house.

xoxo, christine

Another Set of Empty Arms

My heart is breaking. I received an email from a friend asking for prayers for a family member who just lost her baby. She was thirty-nine weeks pregnant. Her scheduled C-Section was just hours away, but she went in because something felt wrong. Her daughter had already died.

I just feel sick for what this family is going through. My heart hurts for the mother. I have spent the day vacilating between heartache and numbness, trying to wrap my head around another baby lost. I don't understand why these things happen. I don't understand how so many babies are born healthy every day, and this sweet baby was not.

I want to take this mother in my arms and give her warmth and peace and strength, and yet I know that is impossible. I can not do anything to help her. Only be available to sit with her in grief, if she wants. Only offer up prayers for everyone. Painful, tear-filled, sobbing prayers.

I think about how her pregnancy innocence is lost. I think about the devastation she must be experiencing. Reliving those moments over and over and over again. The painful love and adoration she had for her daughter when she held her in her arms.

I think about how terrible it is to leave the hospital with no baby. How horrifying it is to see everyone going about their business when you feel like the world should stop. When you feel simultaneously numb and completely shattered. When your life and world will never be what it once was.

I think about feeling angry and lost and terrified. I think about wondering how I could survive the loss of a child. I think about the terrible guilt I had, feeling like as his mother I should've been able to protect him. I was supposed to keep him safe.

This mother will probably feel many of the same things I did. And many things I didn't. I know how difficult it is to be on the receiving end of condolences, yet how helpless friends and family must feel when they give it.

It is hard and heartbreaking all around.

I am thinking about sweet baby Reese in heaven, and praying for her mama, who's arms are surly aching with their emptiness.

xoxo, christine

On Complicated Grief and Love and a Little Boy

Our toilet got clogged last night. Then, in the process of trying to get it unclogged, it, of course, overflowed. And you know that water isn't "fresh" toilet bowl water. It is yucky, ucky, stinky, crap-filled water. Spilling over onto anything in its path.

Our nighttime bathroom mishap pretty much feels like a metaphor of... today? Life? The grief of losing our son?

Today is the first anniversary of Calvin's due date. I'm pretty sure my emotions are all clogged up inside of me until they aren't anymore and they just kind of seep into anything surrounding me. (Yes, I totally just compared this all to an overflowing toilet.)

Although not every day, I think about Calvin a lot. It is mostly in passing, in casual conversations with Adam and the girls. He is included when the girls do family counts and in pictures they draw. Paige has designated her old green blanket his. We talk to him and pray to him when snuggling into bed at night. And his blue blanket is still tucked under my pillow. I'm still waiting for a dream from him.

Truthfully, I don't spend much time imagining how our lives would look if he had lived. If things had been different. Oh sure, when I see a random baby boy around Calvin's age, I usually get a little flutter in my heart. Or when I see a chunky baby in blue with his daddy, my heart aches for Adam not to have the experience of raising his son. But mostly I don't let myself think about "what if" or "if only" because it is just impossible to know.

I can not imagine having a one-year-old son right now. I can not imagine what it would look like or feel like to be chasing after a toddler who goes from room to room finding every tiny toy the girls leave on the floor. I can not imagine the "Mo-oms!" being called when he, once again, ruined whatever his sisters were playing with. I can not imagine shopping in the little boys section full of blues and greens and clip-on bow ties. I can not imagine what adjustments our family would have made. How we would interact with each other, how we would feel. I can not imagine who our girls would be if they hadn't lost their brother.

Mostly, as much as I wish Calvin could be here. I know he can not. And he never was going to be. And I'm okay with that. It is why I can love Nora without any guilt toward Calvin. There is no "it could have been" with him alive in our lives. And I miss him, of course I do. And I love him, of course I do. But I know that things are Right with us. Calvin prepared the way for Nora, because without losing him, we would mostly likely not have her.

And having Nora here is definitely Right. (It is important to me that Nora grow up knowing that, even though we miss her older brother, we would not trade her for him. It might be hard to imagine or understand, but I know that he is where he is supposed to be so that Nora could be here with us.)

And I can't imagine our lives looking any different that what we have right now. The blessed experience of carrying our son for six and a half months. The joy and utter devastation of cradling his little body. The fear and hope of another baby. The hesitant excitement of a healthy pregnancy. The abounding love of welcoming Nora.

I am terribly sad that Calvin didn't get to stay with us, but I am incredibly grateful for the gift he gave us. And I will shed tears of love as we remember him today and the gift he was for our family.

xoxo, christine

Bye Bye Bye

We got rid of our baker's rack.

Well, it is actually sitting in our garage right now, but the idea is that it is out of our house and does not have a permanent spot here anymore. It's transitional home is parked next to our car, but it's next permanent home is not here. Not ours.

I realize this is hardly news. Did you even know we had a baker's rack? We did. And now we don't. It served a great purpose for holding some of our kitchen stuff in the tiny kitchens with minimal cupboard space we've had. But lately I've been feeling overwhelmed by all our Stuff (yes, with a capital T) and I as I glared around our house, (oh yes, it was glaring, I was not looking around or anything so pleasant. I was on a mission of get crap OUT), I realized that we could consolidate and donate and then not need that extra shelf anymore.

And oh-my-goodness it feels so good that I am sizing up everything right now to figure out if we could get rid of more. I am ready to go through this house room by room, shelf by shelf. I want to be brutal right now. I mean, we don't really need a table to eat at, right? It would totally free up our dining room.

Okay, so that might be going a little overboard... but I am in a serious clean-this-house-out mode. So much so that it is keeping me awake some nights as I visualize our belongings and debate their worth and whether or not I could bring myself to let them go.

I totally want to let them go.

I'm not always all that good of getting rid of stuff. I mean, I'm not a hoarder or anything, but if I've started to attach some sentimentality to something it's pretty hard for me to say goodbye. So when these Let's-Get-Rid-Of-Stuff moods make an appearance I want to make sure to take full advantage of them.

Which means I'd better focus right now because they don't always last long.

Anyone need a couch? (I'm kidding.)

xoxo, christine

My sweet babe, who has nothing to do with this post, yet everything to do with my heart.