There is a Time for Everything Under the Sun

Our third child didn’t get a baby shower.  Not because historically it’s improper in the book of manners, but because I just didn’t think my heart could handle it.  The last time I had been pregnant with a boy, my friends gathered around me as we ate chocolate and vegetables and artichoke dip, all the while cooing over adorable blue polka dot blankets and all things tender and tiny.  It had been almost four years since I had first become a mom, and with that bit of experience, this time around was a bit sweeter and much more relaxing.  With almost four years of practice under my belt, this was going to be a lot easier, a piece of cake.  I more or less knew how to prepare and what to expect.

I had let my guard down and was burned.  That wasn’t going to happen this time.

My friend recently posted how she had taken almost 1000 pictures of her nephew’s birth, and prior to that, she shared pictures of the shower she hosted for her sister, a celebration of the anticipation of their third child.

I am not one to weep over regrets, but my heart sunk a little.  Why hadn’t I allowed the many who offered to host me a baby shower just do what their hearts wanted to do?  Receiving help is difficult for me.  Pride gets in the way of receiving, because I am a damn strong woman and can do a hell of a lot on my own.  However, I’ve found over time how strength is beautiful in numbers, how relying on God and others is not weakness shown but rather confidence revealed.  Real trust, to the core…an ability to recognize most great masterpieces are made up of more than one color, a brick is solely a brick on its own, and a tree will never grow if the seed isn’t ever planted.

No orchestra is made up on solely one instrument.

And only now, after just having loosely celebrated Ryan’s 3rd birthday (Em was sick, he didn’t know it was his birthday or what that meant, really, and Jason and I were just home from Spain), am I able to understand it wasn’t out of guilt or feeling sorry for me that my friends, old and new, wanted to host me a shower. 

I realize now that a shower is to celebrate the anticipation of the little life about to enter the world, an opportunity to celebrate the woman carrying that life, the waiting parents, and a space for everyone to rejoice.  

There is a time for everything under the sun.  Pregnancy and the anticipation of a child is a time of celebration.  Only when news otherwise is relayed should the celebration turn into mourning.

There is a time for everything under the sun.

We don’t skip bridal showers because we think the poor couple won’t last past the infamous 7-year itch.  We don’t forgo weddings for the same reason.  There is no guarantee, on any given day, we will all make it to the 89 year old mark, so should we all skip cake and ice cream, all the years leading up to our day?   There is no guarantee, only hope and hard work, if our marriages will, indeed, continue happily ever after.  Just because a woman is pregnant does not mean the baby inside of her is meant for this side of Heaven.

And just because my heart was raw, carrying another son in my womb, unsure of the days to come, jaded a bit from loving and losing, doesn’t mean I should have denied my family and friends the opportunity to anticipate and celebrate the life growing in me and the arrival of our newest family member.

I’m not saying it was right or wrong to deny my friends and family a chance to host a shower for me years ago.  What I am saying is, in my selfish attempt to protect my heart from further heartache and disappointment, I shut down and didn’t even allow those who loved me to show their love faithfully as they had in the past.  They had celebrated with us, and also mourned when it was time.  

Birthdays, showers, anniversaries, holidays.  All of these celebrations, though marked with loss and memories, no matter how distant, are indeed, celebrations.

I'm not sure why I'm writing this 4 years from when my friends offered to throw me a shower, but I felt strongly to share my heart.  Maybe you are fearful to celebrate the anticipation of a child on the way, perhaps you have had adoptions fall through and it's scary to let your head and heart go there again.  Maybe fear is gripping you as you allow your heart to fall deeply in love again after the loss of a spouse?  I don't know.

I do know for several months I was fearful Ryan would die, just like his big brother.  And I had really, really, really, really, really fallen in love with Noah.  But I knew Noah was dying, and at the same time, I knew he deserved all my love and I loved him with all of my mommy heart.  I don't live in fear anymore that Ryan is going to die like his brother.  He will die.  I don't know when.  God knows the number of our days.  I do know this, however...I have jumped in with both feet in loving Ryan.  The ache and grief of losing his brother does not hang over me as I flip his curls through my fingers, rub noses, snuggle in our favorite chair while reading, and play choo-choo's in the basement.  I'm in love and it feels really amazing.

Every Single Day is a celebration of the lives around us, even our very own.  Is there someone in your life who needs celebrating today?

The only loss in loving is to look back and realize we never gave it our all.

Redemption?

So, I guess since I'm due in less than a week it's probably time to have some more belly shots...my friend Gina took these of me on my front porch. The memory on my camera has been full and I've been a bit busy. I guess documenting this pregnancy has been a bit surreal for me.

Anyway...

I've realized that I think I'm afraid to actually meet "Baby Nacho". I remember after Noah died that I wished I could have gone back to when he was in my belly, safe, alive, just the two of us, him tucked away from the cares and curse of the world.

Everyone keeps wondering when this little man will make his grand entrance. I know I should be so excited, but it does not seem real. I obviously don't know the future, but part of my heart wants to keep him all to myself because as long as he's in my belly, at least in my heart, he's okay.

Yeah, it sounds like I have zero faith, hope or trust that God's got a different scenario laid out for this child. Believe me, my faith is way bigger than zero...

People have said things to me over the last several months to the effect of, "God will redeem the situation" or "Oh, it's a boy! What a redeeming story!"

I have some serious thoughts, feelings, and words about the above sentiments. God does not have to "redeem" anything. By us having another boy doesn't mean God is "redeeming" our loss of another little boy. What if this one was a daughter? Would that mean He was only sorta redeeming it? What if we had never been pregnant again? Would that mean redemption wasn't written for us?

Redemption or redeem is defined: to buy back; to win back; to free from what distresses or harms; to change for the better; to repair or restore; to atone for or expiate as in an error

God did not make an error when He made Noah the way He did. And, another baby boy will not win back Noah's life. And as far as "buying back" or "winning back"...my heart never ran away...even though I don't always understand or agree with the way God runs the Universe, I totally trust Him and trust that the bigger picture He is able to see is much more glorious than the one I see, even with eyes of faith...so no, I don't need "buying back" because I never ran.

God is amazing and so difficult to understand at the same time! I believe whether we ever had another child or not, Redemption, in its true definition, has already happened in our lives. It is for every single person on the face of the earth from the beginning until the end who will choose to believe. It was planned for since day one in time, and it occurred about 2000 years ago through the sacrifice of Jesus Christ. He is our Redeemer.

And this is a different boy, not in place of the last one, but another one, a different one, with his own story...a story that will be written one day at a time because of God's grace...and for God's glory alone.

Apparently...

Apparently...stress brings about contractions...or at least mega-Braxton Hicks.

Apparently...even though I have been trained throughout my life in different leadership settings to appear calm in extremely stressful situations, my body wasn't trained as well.

Apparently...the European pregnant ladies know a little something because a half a glass of wine (don't judge me...) during false labor shuts it right down...unless, of course, it's not false!

I don't have time to go early. I am 36 weeks and though I know that next week marks "full-term", I still have stuff to do...plus, Jason will be out of town...and holding Em's hand in the delivery room just isn't the vision I have for welcoming this new little man into our family.

I go in tomorrow for a routine appointment. Hopefully it will be underwhelming in its findings...

I still have a nursery to decorate along with a good, thorough cleaning of this pigsty we are currently calling "home"...oh, and I haven't packed my bag and I haven't bought newborn diapers in four and a half years!

But I don't want to do any of that. I want to sit and snuggle my kid and pat her little puppy, Lady, and cry because my heart is so sad.

You know, it would be nice to have material other than grief and death to blog about but, apparently, that's not my lot in blog world.

Death sucks. I'll say it again. Death sucks. It doesn't suck for the one that has died because knowing Christ and meeting the Creator of the Universe is epic and quite impossible to explain or conceive on earth. Death sucks for those left behind, or as I say, "It sucks for the leftovers."

I've said it more than once and I'll say it again. Life on earth outside of God's presence is not where we were originally designed to be. We all, though, only know this side of Heaven (at least if you are reading this and haven't been there and back lately...) so, of course we try to make this life great and make the most of it. The only problem is, we forget that living on earth is as close to Hell as we should ever want to be. Earth is a fallen world.

Experiencing love and laughter, joy and hope on this earth is a sweet, sweet thing. God would have that every one of His created could know those beautiful glimpses. That's what I need to hold onto...the reality that goodness here on earth is, quite possibly, a glimpse into life in God's physical presence, yet mine to enjoy here and now...a taste.

Separation in death from those we have known and loved is a glimpse of the Fall of Man. It absolutely should hurt and cause us great sorrow.

Though, in knowing Christ, somehow in His miraculous strength, unfathomable to us, we are also able to have hope...

"Hope, however, that is seen is no hope at all. Who hopes for what he already has?" Romans 8:24

We hope for Heaven. We hope for the day that we will walk with Christ, tangibly, physically. We hope for the reunion of those who have gone before us.

I am just so grateful that I have hope in the midst of life on earth...and in the midst of grief.

I can't imagine my life without hope... or without hope in the One who has given us life.

(Now, for my appointment tomorrow...I hope this little man knows he's totally grounded if he thinks it's acceptable to arrive any earlier than is convenient for his mama!!!! Doesn't he know I have a lot going on?! #$%^&*)

FINALLY! I was BURSTING!

So, what you do know is that I am pregnant and have been since some time near the end of November.

What you didn't know was Christmas morning I called my little sister to ask her if she was pregnant, too.

Her test was negative...slacker!














Three days later, her test was positive!

What you didn't know is that she switched docs and also sees "Mr. Favorite Doctor"!

What you didn't know is she and I have been coordinating most of our appointments.

What you didn't know is they are expecting a boy, too!

What you didn't know is we thought we were close to two weeks apart, with me delivering before her. Now, since our recent ultrasounds, she's due 3 days after me.

So, needless to say, I am so excited she finally "outed" herself because this pregnancy has been exciting for me, but for more reasons than just ME being pregnant. I obviously never thought I'd be pregnant at 38 years old, but never in a million years did I think I'd be pregnant at the same time as my baby sister!!!

My dad, (whoops, do you do that with your siblings??? call your parents "my mom" or "my dad" instead of "ours" ???) however, a year ago said he had a dream that Dana and I would be pregnant with boys at the same time. I thought my dad was having flashbacks from the 60's...(kidding dad, kidding!) but, I should have known because my dad's dreams are usually spot on.

And since we're finding out coinciding circumstances, I'm really excited about the fact that three of my blogging friends Jody, Jennifer, and Angie are all having babies, too! And...Jody and Jennifer are due in August, too! And, there are several girls at church that are walking the same road, friends from high school, women I went to college with and students from when I worked at NWC and another person in my life that I'm not at liberty to "out" yet, but that one's a kicker, for sure, too!

Sharing the experience with other women that I love is exciting, but being able to pray for them and their sweet babies as I pray for our own is an honor that only God could bless me with. I am humbled to share this time of my life with other women I love...and with all of you.

P.S. I lost (or hopefully just left them at the docs office) all the pics from our ultrasound. Pregnant brain? Maybe. I also haven't taken any belly shots, though it is finally growing...so much in fact that a beautiful optical illusion has occurred and now my thighs actually look small compared to my belly circumference. I need to get some pics, though, and once I do, I'll post.

Back it up a little...

So, Em and Jason and I went in on Tuesday for our uber-ultra ultrasound. They check for all the important vital body parts.

Most parents look only for genitalia.

Obviously since we seem to produce children with more than just private parts, and since our lives have been radically changed over the past 4 years and since we have friends who have cried through ultrasounds showing them that certain vital parts were not growing in their sweet babies, we were looking for more than just genitalia...so was the ultrasound technician. I asked:

"Is that a kidney? Are there 2? Ureters? Do they empty to the bladder? How many chambers in the heart? A spleen? How about a liver? How about its brain? Eyes? Its jaw? Does it have a jaw? May I see its spine?"

Admittedly, it's sad I can't just look for a hoo-ha or weiner...(don't worry, we use the proper terms with Em...I just don't feel that comfortable with you! Ha!)

As she pushed on, likely, the fullest bladder in the world that morning, she showed me almost every other body part, confirming its presence and performance, before she headed down to check out the femurs. The femurs were...femurish...you know, long and femur looking. So that was good.

But, wait...what was that?

Me: Oh! Huh!?
Tech: Yeah, did you catch that?
Me: Pretty sure I did...back it up a little...
Tech: There you go.
Me: Are you sure that's not just engorged?
Tech: I'm sure. That is what you think it is.
Me: Oh my gosh, Em, you're having a brother! It's a baby boy!
Me: (Sob. Bawl. Sob. Wipe snot. Bawl. Smile. Sob with heaves and lip biting. Smile. Awe. Wonder. Bawl. Wipe more snot.)
Jason: (Quietly choking back tears in the dark room...Em just thinking he had sinus issues...)

Jason and I had planned on naming Noah "Mary" or "Claire" if he had been a girl. We both, likely out of protection of our hearts and emotions, had decided this was a girl. I had even oooohed and ahhhhed over cute girl clothes at BabyGap and found a super duper cute poster of Paris to put in her room.

Deep down, of course I wanted a boy. Boys melt Mommies' hearts. In the 7 weeks Noah was home after he was born I had the worst back and neck pain from staring down at him, constantly. I mean, way down deep love that is quite impossible for me to 'splain so I won't even try...

Back up years...like probably 5 or 6. I walked into one of our favorite local restaurants for take out. There was a mom and her older teenage son in line in front of me. He was tall, maybe a foot taller than his mom, and handsome. I remember looking at them and feeling a promise in my heart of God saying to me that one day I would have a son. I had always pictured him in that stage of life. FF to June 10, 2006 and I was overjoyed that I had a son...my promise. FF to January 12, 2007 and I'm not going to lie at how unfair and sick I felt that promise was...like a "psych" moment, but painful and gut-wrenching...a slap in the face.

FF to Tuesday, April 27th at approximately 9:30 am MT when we saw his parts...and having come through all we have, learning more about the God of the Universe who knows way more than I ever will and is good and has a plan, and trusting that He knows what is best and desires to bless His children...I could not help but bawl my head off, and my mascara, in hope and thankfulness for whatever it is He has in store.

However, at the same time, realizing that He is in charge. I trust Him. He has asked me to live one day at a time. And so, God has blessed me with two sons. One in His presence now and the other kicking the heck out of my entire abdominal cavity...

And I am thankful.

And I am in awe.

And I am treasuring one kick at a time.

And I am hanging onto hope...hope that one day I will meet this sweet little man face to face...and when I do, I will fall in love with him and he with me...and one day...

One day he will throw his arm around my 55 year old shoulder and smile down at me. And I will try to contain the squeals within me, stay cool and not act on all the kisses I'll want to plant on his cheeks and tell him how very handsome he is and how very proud of him I am...I'll just act cool and order our falafels.

Is it GP or AMA?

Christmas morning I slipped out of bed quietly, which isn't hard with Jason since he's quite the sleeper, and tiptoed quietly to our bathroom to take the test that I knew in my heart would already be positive. I hadn't decided if I would show Jason the stripes that day or wait until 12 weeks or what. I know that sounds crazy to wait that long to tell your own hubby...especially Jason who I tell absolutely everything to and obviously deserves to walk the journey with me, one step at a time. The idea of waiting until further into the pregnancy wasn't to punish him or anything like that. It was more of my own beef with the fact that I've had some loss in life and also, being unemployed and on Medicare for the last year with no job or change in sight...well, would telling him only add stress even though he would never show it in a million years? Anyway, he's my bestest friend in the whole wide world...which is why it took me all of 30 seconds to say, "Merry Christmas! I'm pregnant!"

We both decided not to share the news with anyone for a while...which was difficult because Jason's whole family was at our house for Christmas, I had my birthday lunch with a bunch of my girlfriends two weeks later where I almost spilled the beans, and of course, just day in and day out interaction with humans in general!

Our plan to keep things on the DL for a while was blown with the nasty rodent incident, which you can read about here. We didn't want to tell Em at 6 weeks that she was going to be a big sister because my last miscarriage was at 6 weeks and my first one was between 9 and 10 weeks. She doesn't even know about the last one because, without candy coating it....adding to her list of dead siblings is a really shitty thing to have to do! Basically, I've had to exercise faith. And, I had to 'go there' earlier than I wanted to.

I am a realist. Even though I believe that God is real, that He is good, and that there really was a time in history before I existed on earth that an unseen God, who was totally in love with me, came in the flesh and died for my sins that I had yet to commit, no brainiac PhD scientist or theologian or wise Sherpa or shaman or anyone else for that matter will ever be able to convince me that one true God doesn't exist and that He doesn't totally stinking ROCK. That's a faith that I can barely explain. However, when it comes to the tangible, I am just like Thomas the big fat doubter.

So, even though I knew I couldn't make an appointment until I had reached 8 weeks, I called to set that up...

Me: I need to make an appointment. I'm pregnant.
Receptionist: When was the first day of your last period?
Me: November something, something.
Receptionist: Well, we only take appointments at 8 weeks or later.
Me: I know. That's fine. I will be out of town so wanted to call and schedule it.
Receptionist: When is your date of birth?
Me: 1972...yes, that makes me a Geriatric Patient...
Receptionist: (Nervous laugh) Oh no...okay, we've got you down for January 29th with Mr. Favorite Doctor.

After that, I pretty much forgot about it...well, not entirely since I've felt like crappola for the majority of this pregnancy, but in my head and heart, not until that appointment when I got to see a heart beating and it swimming around was I going to engage. (*Note: I recognize the truth that a baby is a baby at conception...my heart just couldn't take the drama and why lie about it?! #$%^&*).

Then, one random day mid-January I got a call from the office to reschedule my appointment because Mr. Favorite Doctor was going to be out of town the day of my appt. (He was out of town when Noah was born, as were all his partners, so a third party doc delivered my guy...) (He better not make that a practice or I'll go all "What About Bob?" on him...wink wink!) She asked if I wanted it sooner. I told her I was headed out of town, but would do it the following week...what I didn't tell her was that to avoid it altogether I would prefer to just show up some time in August...upon delivery.

The next day I had a VM from Mr. Favorite Doctor. It went like this:

MrFDr: Adrienne, this is Mr. Favorite Doctor. I was thrilled to see your name on my schedule. I know the girls in the office already called for you to reschedule because I'll be out of town but I just wanted you to know that even if they say I am booked and have no appointments, if you want to come in, if you have any concerns or anything, just call me and I'll fit you in. It's not a problem.

My heart was all warm and fuzzy. I hit "Reply to Message" and said:

Me: Mr. Favorite Doctor, thank you so much for your offer! You rock! However, I really didn't even want to come in there until I was totally sure I was pregnant, like, til 20 or 30 weeks...or maybe even 40. I'll settle for a 10 week appointment, though. Jason and I will see you on the 1st of February. Have a good trip!

Fast forward to February 1st, please, because January 2010 was the slowest freaking month in Adrienne's history!

Here we are in the waiting room contemplating the fact that we're both nearing 40 and starting from scratch...hence, the ultra-tired looks on our faces...

We showed up in the office and one of Noah's nurses was on that day. She was giddy like a teenager. We headed to the exam room where she asked me a million questions, medical and personal, and just kept telling me how happy she was for us...even more excited than if she were pregnant herself. Finally she said she should probably get to other patients, so I waited in my fancy paper ensemble, trying not to freeze. I didn't reach for it because, without fail, the moment you hop off the exam table while you are waiting, the doc comes in and then your hiney is hanging out and that's just a bad scene. But there was a Cosmo on a little table in the room. I don't read that magazine, mostly because I have always had a bent towards design and decorating magazines, but also because on the cover of every Cosmo there's always a raunchy title to an article within that is supposed to draw you in and change your life forever, right? There are plenty of other fashion magazines that aren't borderline porn, so that's the obvious reason...but here's what the 'tease' was for the article within this particular publication: Your Hoo-Ha: Your Way to a Healthy and Pretty Vagina.

Really?! Really?! REALLY?! Seriously?! Yeah. Uh-huh. Not even kidding you...speechless, aren't you? Thankfully Mr. Favorite Doctor knocked.

Then Jason joined us in the ultrasound room...and finally, there it was...the cutest, sweetest, most active little gummy bear sized baby, kicking and punching, with a beautiful heartbeat, and, to my sweet surprise, a couple days ahead on gestation...

MrFDr: Your baby is healthy and strong and looks great! I am so happy for you guys. And, you are actually due sooner than you thought, by a few days.
Me: So, what? Do you call me, like a freaking Geriatric Patient or something?
MrFDr: Um, well, we usually leave off the 'freaking' and no, we call it "Advanced Maternal Age".
Me: Seriously? Advanced Maternal Age?
MrFDr: Yes. It begins at 35, but you are young.
Me: Well, I have some gray hair and I'm growing a baby...I call that Geriatric...it has an ironic ring to it...
Me: Do you think you could possibly be in town for this delivery...you know, since you missed the last one while you were off fishing somewhere in the ocean?
MrFDr: I'll certainly do what I can.

Then I found out Jason doesn't really want to find out what it is...me? As stated above, I need a tangible and just don't think I can do that, so I'll probably win out. I'll let you know...or maybe I won't...

We talked about AMA pregnancy tests available to us. Mr. Favorite Doctor already knew any result would not change the outcome of whether we would have our baby or not, but I admitted that the medical research side of my brain was curious now because of Noah and wanted some of the tests just so I could study and whatnot. So, on February 26th, I'll head back in for another ultrasound for further testing, not related to what Noah had, as there are no prenatal tests for Lyme's, but for other stuff. Nothing I am choosing will be invasive, however.

The kid is who it is and we already love it...no matter how long. Period.

As we floated to our car I couldn't believe our new reality. Jason's new job would be starting two days from our appointment and we had a healthy baby growing in my belly...and the scale at the doctor's office said I had lost 6 lbs. so who doesn't love that?!

For those of you who have read here a while, you know Noah's first and only movie was "Nacho Libre"...a family favorite.

We headed to Mezcal, one of our favorite Mexican restaurants in the Denver area, for Sopes, the yummiest food for my tummy. The place is laden with vintage posters of Mexican wrestlers in true "Nacho Libre" style. We basically just kept staring at each other...humbled...in awe...slapped upside the head with the reality that we aren't far off 40, and still totally in love after all these years and all the crap we've been through...and all the promises to come...life is sweet.