Forever Young

We were in the middle of watching a show, which show is not really important or relevant, but I found myself thinking “I wonder if I’ll be like that when I grow up?”. Then I had to laugh because…I’m 35…I probably should have stopped thinking that way when I graduated college or when I got married or after giving birth to our son (the list goes on and on). 

It also made me think back to something my Grandma had said to me years ago. “It’s funny Elyse. I know that I’m old and of course I know how old I am but I still feel like I’m 18…even though I definitely no longer look it”.  

At the time that she told me this, I was in my 20s and we had a good laugh together but I didn’t really think about it beyond that conversation. Today, Grandma is still with us but mentally her memory isn’t as strong as it once was. She wouldn’t likely remember that conversation since she doesn’t usually remember who I am anymore. But I wish that I could sit down and tell her that I finally get it. I get what she was trying to say that day as we chatted about life and as she described to me how drastically the world and our physical appearances changes year after year but how that internal youthful spirit just seems to linger. 

I’ve got a 3 year old who is looking to me daily for guidance, love, information, attention, feedback...I’m helping to mold a small person’s mind/personality. That seems absurd to me some days because I don’t really feel like I’ve fully molded myself. I still feel like I may have untapped potential, like I have a journey that I haven’t realized…like I haven’t quite “grown up”. 

Despite all of the painful, beautiful, memorable, life changing moments that we go through: do we all spend our lives feeling like maybe someday we’ll finally grow up? 

My gorgeous and forever young Grandma.

You're the best song I'll ever write...

Here’s the crazy truth: I’ve been a mom for over 2 years now and despite feeling like a failure every couple of days…the authorities have not broken down the door to confirm that fear. Anyone who has kept up with my very inactive blog in the past knows that I struggled to become a mom. Miscarriages have a way of damaging your heart and making you feel defeated. And as I’ve said before…I prayed…so much. A husband, who continued to love on me, and talking to God about my fears, hopes, insecurities and depression; got me through the darkness. 

When I found out I was pregnant with Lucas my heart jumped into my throat in excitement and just as quickly sank down into my feet in fear. The beginning weeks of the pregnancy were filled with prayers all day every day…that this pregnancy and this baby would be safe and healthy and successful. Many moms tend to countdown the days until they aren’t feeling sick anymore or until they can reveal the gender of the baby. I was counting down the days in a worried mental calendar of memories, “Okay…we’re further along than the first miscarriage….okay we’re almost to the time frame of the second miscarriage…”. Once we had passed all of the milestones/weeks that corresponded with the previous losses, I was able to breathe a tiny bit easier. And a tip from me to any moms who are expecting: I would not recommend googling all of the millions of things that can still go wrong with a pregnancy beyond that point (the internet is an evil temptress of nonsense and knowledge). 

Despite the fear that lingered with me…my pregnancy with Lucas was the best. I loved getting bigger every day and knowing that it was my body creating a safe space for our child to grow. I loved feeling him move and stretch and hiccup throughout the day. It was like having a tiny partner in crime constantly hanging around reminding me of how blessed and lucky I was. I have spoken to many women who hated pregnancy: they hated the weight, the swollen feet, waking up all night to use the bathroom, not sleeping well, breaking out, food aversions, puking, etc. I was blessed with a very low stress pregnancy and had spent so much time praying to be pregnant and for our baby to continue growing safely… that it seemed like 9 months went by so fast. 

Lucas joined our world in May 2016. All of my prayers…answered in one tiny person. I don’t know if he’ll ever understand the healing that he brought to my heart. If you’ve seen my social media or even my phone, it’s obvious that I’m a little obsessed with the kid. I genuinely enjoy hanging out with him and watching him figure things out. He’s funny, sweet (most of the time) and has my coordination (constantly falling over his own feet). He’s got my husband’s good looks and he dances like his mama…I mean really….can you think of a better combination?

Over 2 years into this mom adventure and here is what I know: I will never feel good enough and that’s okay. I’ve had some success, I’ve encountered plenty of failure, there’s been crying/whining (from all 3 of us) and even more laughter. I’ve learned to ask for help/advice, I’m constantly second guessing my decisions, I can sing every nursery rhyme and toddler show theme song upon request, I understand a language that sometimes sounds like gibberish but makes perfect sense to my toddler, when I put my mind to it I can multitask like a boss, my car almost always looks like the Junk Lady from The Labyrinth and sometimes I look like I crawled out of someone’s gym bag and slapped a hat on. So what do I think about being a mom so far? 

I’ve never been happier.

And just in case my verbal vomit style of writing doesn't make sense...this song by Bethany Dillon seems to sum it up perfectly.

Be Still...

It was one year ago today that I spent the morning in the emergency room miscarrying for the first but not the last time. Not long after that experience I would miscarry again.

I have never written about the miscarriages publicly. It may sound ridiculous but admitting out loud to people that I have miscarried feels utterly embarrassing. Just the word leaves a bad taste in my mouth. If you’ve ever wondered if it’s possible to feel embarrassed, ashamed and incredibly disappointing just by speaking one word…it is possible.

I wasn’t sure I ever wanted to share what I had originally written about the miscarriages because I wrote while the experiences were still very fresh and in all reality while they were still happening. It’s all of my darkest writing to date. But it’s been a year, writing is therapeutic for me and it’s time to be honest and no longer feel ashamed to admit what happened.

I won’t bore you with the full pages upon pages of verbal vomit that I had originally put onto paper but I will share a few pieces from each. The first miscarriage occured in June 2013 and the next in January 2014.

Excerpts from June 2013:

…Hours later the doctor and her posse came back into the room. I heard her mumble something to the rookie following her around about “taking this serious” before she walked into the room. Her once positive and bubbly demeanor was gone as were the plastic smiles that anyone had worn before. She proceeded to talk about the many things it could have been… I didn’t care to hear all of that…I just needed her to say it out loud in words that we would understand so that it was confirmed and real. She never really did say it and instead told me to follow up with my doctor. It was actually a nurse that I had not yet met that said what I needed to hear. She came in with my discharge papers and to take my blood pressure before I left. As I sat staring ahead, numb to what she was rattling on about I did happen to hear her ask, “Do you have any questions?”

 I did. I baited her with my question because I needed to hear someone actually say it out loud…to make it real...so that everyone would stop dancing around the truth with “mights” “coulds” and “possiblies”. So I asked her, “What am I supposed to say to my doctor when I call her to follow up?” And that is when she said it, “Well you miscarried so you will need to tell them that…”

I miscarried. I never thought that one word would hurt so much. In fact a few days later I would be researching miscarriage when I saw it:

Miscarriage: Synonym – Failure.

Yep, that pretty accurately describes how I feel. I failed to keep our baby safe, healthy or alive. I failed at the one thing I’ve always wanted and now I just feel broken.

…Ironically, I had originally written my 10 week (what was supposed to be my first visit) doctor’s appointment in my calendar in pencil…I never write anything in pencil but I did with this particular appointment because I was hoping that I would get an earlier appointment to finally see the baby. I erased that appointment (and all of the hopes I had associated with it) from my calendar and wrote my now much earlier appointment in pen. Pen seemed appropriate this time…because there isn’t anything to hope for with this visit…it’s just an empty meeting that won’t change a thing.”

Excerpts from January 2014:

“…It’s been a couple of weeks since that day: blood tests, sonograms and calls with the nurse all confirmed that I would be miscarrying soon. My choice? Wait for the miscarriage to happen naturally or go in for a D&C. I chose to wait – partially because there’s a risk of scarring with the procedure and we’d have to pay a chunk of money for it but mostly because the procedure just lingers in my mind as an abortion…that would stick in my mind always even though this would not be the same scenario.

So here I am…weeks later…finally miscarrying after nearly 10 weeks of pregnancy in a most painful and uncomfortable way. It’s been 5 days…it could take up to 10 they say. Physically…exactly what they said should be happening is…and that’s a blessing I suppose. Emotionally? I’ve never been more broken, jaded, angry, bitter, disappointed, lost, heartbroken, upset, mixed up, disenchanted, negative and ready to give up the dream. For the first time in our marriage, my husband is the positive one, the rock and the one keeping hopes up. For the first time in our marriage, I don’t see the silver lining or the hope that it will happen one day…those places in my head and heart are full of something dark right now. Jaded is probably the best word for it…I’m jaded. I no longer have it in me to find hope in the doctors, friends and family who say “It just wasn’t right this time and it is all for the best….It will happen for you guys…You can’t give up because it will all work out”.

Sure.

My hope? That one of these days I wake up and can find that positive outlook again…that I can put on another brave face and try to start a family again. My fear? That I’ve lost the ability to be positive in the face of this mess…that I’ve lost the drive to try and start a family again because it hurts too much physically and emotionally every time this happens. So I’m writing and I’m praying. Because I don’t know what else to do.

So there you have it. I have always been a glass half full kind of person so these feelings of sadness, anger and bitterness that decided to set up shop in my head were new to me.

I got through it – some days were fine and some days included time spent curled up in a ball on the floor of the room that was supposed to be a nursery. Every day was filled with prayer. There doesn’t seem to be a best way to cope with heartache.

If you happened to stumble onto this post because you are going through a miscarriage or went through one: I’m glad that Google happened to send you my direction. I hope that my words and the small pieces of my story help you in some way. The most comforting words that I read during both experiences came from people who didn’t sugar coat it and who exposed all of their ugly insecurities for the world to read about.

It’s been one hell of a year and here is what I can say with confidence:

I do not feel stronger. But my marriage is – the hurt that was born of these situations brought my husband and I closer together. I thank God for him every day.

I am blessed.

I am jaded.

I am hopeful.

And when all else fails…I am still.

The Lord will fight for you; you need only be still. - Exodus 14:14 -