Camping: A Summer Kick-Off

Guess whaaaaat? It's summer! Well. Technically. Summer doesn't ever really show up until post-July 4th in the PNW, but we celebrated anyway. With our first camping trip of the year!

Just over a week ago David and I visited beautiful Whidbey Island for a little camping trip with my sister and brother-in-law (remember them from their wedding last summer? So beautiful!). The weather was supposed to be iffy, but ended up being just perfect. Well, almost perfect. The first night I was FREEZING. But that's just lack of preparedness on my part. David assumed I had my little heater box to keep me warm. Not quite yet, my dear.

Every year we try to camp at least once. Last year we managed three trips. Three! I should specify our version of camping. We are tent campers. Not backpackers. Not RVers. Not pop-up-trailer-tenters. Just old fashioned tent campers. We'll find some state park that we're interested in exploring and make reservations at the beginning of spring, pack our multiple tubs of equipment and head out for 3-4 days mid June. In western Washington this is a bit risky considering my opening statement: summer does not really start until on or after July 4th. Nevertheless, we take the risk and plan for rain. Isn't that what all PNWers do?

This trip was by far the most relaxing camping excursion I have ever taken. And I think it was all because of my have-everything-packed-one-week-prior-to-the-trip-so-I-can-make-some-last-minute-store-runs planning. See, it all starts with an Excel spreadsheet. (Go ahead. Pin it! You know you want to ;-) though it's not very pretty...)

This is the source of my sanity for complex excursions. After every trip I come home and add what we forgot to pack, or what would have been nice to have. I know this looks like a lot, but trust me. It is quite simple. All of our supplies fit into four plastic totes with lids. We bought ours at Costco: the 3-pack of clear, 45-quart/11.25-gallon totes with latch-on lids (they are currently out of season; perhaps they will return in the fall?). One tote carried dry food. One tote carried our cooking utensils. One tote carried camping essentials. The last tote carried the left-over randoms. Yes, the randoms. Our cold food and beverages fit in one cooler. Our "big" stuff like our tent, sunshade and camp chairs were easy enough to pack on its own. We also pack a "bed-in-a-bag," which is simply a large duffle bag with our air mattress, sheets, and blankets/sleeping bag. Our pillows are in a separate bag. Both David and I are a wee bit type-A (can you tell??). I am especially so when it comes to packing. I prefer to be concise and efficient. Camping is a tough balance because I wish we could pack less. But when I pack less, I regret leaving something behind. Ah me, the woes of a silly mind. People call these sorts of worries first-world problems, yes? Yep. I can see that.

I spent almost two weeks preparing our food. Baking and cooking different parts of meals ahead of time to freeze it. I had really screwed up last summer and neglected to pack, let alone make cookies for our trip (I also forgot to pack an entire make-ahead pressed sandwich. Forgetful mama with her postpartum brain!). So this time around I made two different kinds of cookies, getting them in the freezer well in advance so I would not be in trouble. Baby has been craving all sorts of sweets lately, so I must oblige, right? ;-) Oh, I know I can't blame baby--not his/her fault. I simply lack self-control. In the middle of my prep, I came down with a bit of a cold, which definitely slowed me down since I could not medicate. I opted to purchase naan and sourdough English muffins instead of making them myself. (Note for future: DON'T buy naan. Unless you are purchasing from a bonafide naan baker, just don't.) I was rather proud of myself for letting go of the reigns...just a bit.

We arrived at the campground Friday evening, no rain in sight! After setting up camp and starting a fire we were able to relax with dinner and good conversation.

This was actually Saturday's dinner. I didn't take pictures Friday night.

Over the weekend we explored the park and all its beauty while soaking in the sun.

My sister and brother-in-law. They really do love each other. I promise.

The ONLY picture of my sister and me from the whole weekend.

Para-sailors were practicing while we ate lunch on the bluff.

Our hike in the morning along the bluff and down to the beach was lovely. I felt great the whole way, though was a tad bit slower than perhaps the others would have preferred. I was feeling so great I forgot I was even pregnant. However, about 10 minutes of bad-mitten after lunch led to a pretty strong Braxton Hicks. Perhaps my body was trying to tell me something? David was a trooper and picked up the slack while I took a little rest.

He played quite well against these two! We all got a bit burnt by mid-afternoon so made our way back to camp. In the shade. Not as beautiful as the sun. But much more protected.

On Sunday we concluded our trip with Mass at a local mission church. It was so tiny and adorable. In fact, the chapel itself was a historical building on the island from when the community was first established. You could tell the community knew we were outsiders! Before David and I headed home, we decided to explore the gun battery at Ft. Casey. Not our first gun battery by any means, but fun to explore nonetheless. David is a military history nerd so you can imagine how these sorts of adventures excite him. "Oh, let's go in here! What's in here? I want to look over there." I fall in love with him all over again when he gets excited. He will be a wonderful example and teacher to our kiddos!

  

 

We arrived home refreshed by this little getaway, even though camping does require more "work" than a typical vacation. Our laundry room no longer smells of campfire (finally). Though I would take campfire smoke to celebrate summer any day! 

Pregnancy After Infant Loss

Boy, I just keep letting months go by without sharing a single post. I have written. I've documented my thoughts. But I just haven't desired to share them. Life has been deeply personal over the last 4 months I suppose. Strange since I felt so open a year ago writing my story--that is, Samuel's story. I wanted the record. I wanted to never, ever forget each detail. Every emotion. I wanted to share those details with people who had never been in such a situation because asking me direct questions was out of the comfort zones of many. Most of all, I needed to document those details. I just knew in my heart those details would fade as I would learn to adapt to my new normal. I didn't want to lose everything.

Sure enough. A year later, those details are slightly faded. I have processed so much. I faced countless emotions and reactions and questions that have arisen in the year post-Samuel. Some things, some reactions, reoccur. That is irritating. I cannot express how utterly outraged I become over "not being over this" yet. Little triggers pop up all over the place. They take me by surprise, leaving me to flounder in reaction. The other day I was overjoyed that my neighbor finally had her baby. A boy. And she brought him home. Only a day after she gave birth, she was able to bring him home. Healthy. Strong. Alive. This, my friends, is totally normal. Exciting. Exhausting. Perhaps (probably) scary. But normal.

Not for me. That's just not normal to me.

I started bawling with jealousy when I saw my neighbor joyfully greet a friend at the end of her drive last weekend, her son just a few days old. We should be able to relate now, so why was I instead jealous?! There is supposed to be this bond between mothers! I am a mom! I gave birth to my son. I cared for him. I pumped milk for him exclusively. I changed his diapers. I soothed him. I was blessed to be able to bathe him. I mothered him. Yet, I cannot relate to the majority of moms in this world. I have no connection to bringing a new baby home from the hospital. Bringing home a baby that is not lifeless.

So no. Bringing home a healthy baby is not normal.

But having a healthy baby in my life should be normal. I should be excited about all "mom" things rather than have doubts, or jealousy, or anger, or confusion, or loneliness. And if I can't relate I should want to share the details of my healing journey, of my unique journey as a mom. Yet I still find that incredibly difficult.

Over the past four months--well, more than that; more like the past seven months--I have desired to articulate my experience as a mom. Most, if not every mom, whether she is a first-time mom or a rookie, will face the fears and joys of trying to bring a new life into the world. I had posted almost a year ago about being ready for baby #2. And let me tell you. I was so ready. I had been ready since June, barely eight weeks after Samuel had died. I felt guilty for this at first, then realized many moms may experience a sense of guilt if she desires to create more life. Will she be denying her current children her love? Is she desiring more children for selfish reasons? For me, it was "am I subconsciously desiring a replacement for the baby I lost?" I came to understand my motivation for creating more life, but creating life takes three. Mom, Dad and God. God was there. Okay. Perfect. I was there. Great, fantastic. The daddy? David? Not so much.

It took David until just after Thanksgiving to be in a place emotionally, mentally, and spiritually to feel like he could create new life openly. To take that HUGE leap of faith. To jump out of that plane and trust that the parachute would open. To trust that God would not add yet another heavy cross to bear. He had to trust that we would have a healthy child, or...that we would be given the grace as we had been before to carry that cross. At the time, waiting and waiting and waiting for David to trust God the way I was, to be ready to have another baby seemed to last for.ever. Our relationship started to suffer as I started to doubt God--why would God make me wait so long to have another baby?! The few posts I shared barely revealed that pain, if at all. I do not regret that, and I am sure most would understand. These things are so personal. So emotional. So delicate within a relationship. I am so thankful God gave both David and I the grace to work through such dissonance within our relationship. Our focus? Draw closer to Jesus. Come to know Him better so that our trust in Him would grow so our readiness to create new life would grow.

In hindsight, I really didn't have to wait that long for David to be on board. Finally the time came when both our hearts were open. Or so I thought. As soon as the possibility arose that we could possibly be pregnant--because, well, we were trying to get pregnant--I freaked out. Not much more to it. I was angry with God for "taking Samuel" from me. I was angry that I "had to put my body through the ringer yet again?! Just 9 months after giving birth to my first child?!" I was angry we were only just now trying--wouldn't it have been better to try and get pregnant way back in August or something before I started doubting God for "making me suffer"? From that anger came guilt. Heavy, cumbersome guilt for being angry that I might be given the gift to bring a new, healthy life into this world.

The two weeks waiting for my missed period seemed to be the slowest weeks I'd ever experienced. I needed to not be pregnant. The guilt increased as a result of dreading something for which I should be exceedingly grateful. I secretly coped, pushing all thoughts of doubt and fear and shame aside. I had to be the "mom ready to have another baby!" that I had been for the last six months. One week passed. Almost another. I couldn't wait any longer. I took an early test. With Samuel, the test showed positive immediately. None of this "wait for 5 minutes" crap. So I was surprised that this test didn't show positive right away. I set the test down on the floor next to me, following the rules and waiting the full 5 minutes. Maybe the second line would show up.

Or not.

I shook the stick, thinking maybe it needed a little encouragement. Come on. Are you sure??

My heart sunk into my stomach. How could I not be pregnant?! I know my cycle. I am a meticulous tracker of my fertility signs. I know we timed [things] correctly! Samuel was an immediate pregnancy. It's not like I am not able to conceive, so why was I not pregnant?!

This reaction was not what I was expecting at all. I had been caught up in all these fears--fears of being able to have a healthy baby, fears of dismissing Samuel, fears of having regrets, fears of not "truly being ready." The list of fears really had been consuming me. And I had wanted relief in a negative pregnancy test! But this reaction. This disappointed reaction filled me with...what was that? Joy?! Which led to a different kind of relief. If I am so upset by not being pregnant, I must be ready to bring another baby into our lives! I must be ready to accept the emotional challenges of going through a pregnancy after an infant loss. Not achieving pregnancy with the first attempt allowed me to see how open I truly was/am to adding another life to our family. I felt God's reassurance in this, as if He was saying "Ok, Beth. Now you can believe your intentions are true."

Our journey since that moment has been one filled with many highs and lows (of course). Fortunately, the lows have been merely superficial, though no less important. But for the most part we have been blessed with opportunities to celebrate. Earlier this week David and I had our 19 week ultrasound to check on the little one we are expecting to meet sometime this November. Our little Chickadee!

I feel rather guilty for waiting so long to share this announcement with everyone. In fact, I wasn't sure if I was ever going to announce. Well, perhaps when the baby was born... I am not totally comfortable with all of the emotions I am experiencing with this pregnancy, so I find it difficult to share. I wish it were not difficult. I wish I were "stronger" (whatever that means) so that I could share as openly about this experience as I did with my loss of Samuel.

Initially, I thought I our announcement of Chickadee's pending arrival would be 1) earlier than now and 2) radiating joy and excitement. I thought I would have this disgustingly creative announcement of our new tenant arriving this fall. I thought I'd be documenting weekly bump pictures and updates on milestones. All this because I thought that getting pregnant with #2 and then announcing this newest addition I would also be my announcing the conclusion of my grief.

One of these days I'll realize that expectations won't usually be met when it comes to grief and healing. These things are rather unpredictable.

Turns out, this announcement was postponed for so long because, for me, there is a great heaviness, a seriousness to it. There is grief. For this is my first baby after losing my son. This baby will be my oldest, but second-born. This baby will be my first breast-fed baby. This baby will be my first healthy, crying, pooping, breathing on his/her own baby. What an honor to be able to create and carry new life. As I allow myself to absorb the magnitude of this honor, my heart clenches and tears well in my eyes. I am aching for Samuel. I am rejoicing for Chickadee.

God, I ask that you bless this child with continued good health and great love. May I be granted the grace to be the best mom I can be to little Chickadee, to love him or her as unconditionally and as openly as I did Samuel. Amen. 

Stats: 
Chickadee is 19 weeks (about 4.5 months). Due November 2014. Measuring HUGE; 7 "days" bigger than average, but this means nothing other than HEALTHY! This is the only factor that differs from Samuel's 20 week anatomy ultrasound. So I'm holding onto that :)

I am healthy as well. Gaining enough weight, blood pressure is so-far-so-good. I was more nauseous with this baby than I was with Samuel, but still not sick. Craving sweets, sweets and more sweets. Carrying higher than I did with Samuel. Can no longer use conditioner or I will have a greasy mess by the end of the day. Oh. And my belly is much, much bigger at 4.5 months with this baby than it was with Samuel. That I don't particularly care for. ;-)

" I prayed for this child, and the Lord has granted me what I asked of Him." 1 Samuel 1:27  

A year later, and I'm still trying to figure it out.

The past eight days, David and I have been celebrating our first and only child. Our son. Our Samuel. I can't believe it has been a year already. That a whole year ago Samuel was born into this world. Perfect. Beautiful. Pure love. And yet, as we celebrate and recall all the grief and joy we've experienced in the past year I still struggle to believe that David and I are parents to a baby who lived for only 12 days. Some days I still find it hard to believe I am a mother.

One huge block I've been trying to overcome since January is accepting that my situation is in fact rare. Yes, 1 out of 4 confirmed pregnancies end in miscarriage, infant death or stillbirth...but my situation is still very, very rare. Only one out of 2,000 confirmed pregnancies--that is 0.0005%--will result in a fatal chromosomal mutation such as T13 or T18. 0.0005%. Then why do I still think this will happen again? Why do I still worry for the babies of my friends? Why...am I still jealous of those friends who have healthy babies? If my baby could be born with Trisomy 13, then it must not be so rare. I keep expecting this to happen to other babies because I know it can be a very real occurrence. Not because I want it to happen. Never, ever would I wish that upon someone. But this expectation just lingers. Heavy. It has become a huge, massive brick wall blocking me from proceeding on the hopeful, optimistic path I once walked. This has been the block I am struggling to overcome since the holidays. I just can't accept that my baby was the 1 in 2,000.

Sure, I can see that God has given David and I the grace to be parents to a T13 baby, to be able to pick up and carry this cross. That we were chosen among all our family, friends and colleagues to parent such a baby. I can see that we were blessed with a miracle simply by the fact that Samuel was born living, and lived for 12 days. I can see that God wanted Samuel to meet his parents, and that God wanted us to meet Samuel. I can see that through Samuel's birth and death and acceptance into Heaven through the sacrament of Baptism, David and I have been given a great gift. That we have received many blessings as a result of Samuel. And I have seen how the love of God is more powerful than anything on this limited Earth. More powerful than fear. More powerful than pain. More powerful than death.

That doesn't mean I still don't ask why me...

Through all the blogs, articles, books and doctors' wisdom I have of course become a well-versed and experienced student of grief. Why me is an expected, natural, normal part of the grieving process. And grieving is cyclical [oh joy]. And won't really ever end. It eases. It lessens. It can become peaceful if the event of which one grieves is embraced. All I am saying is that sometimes it is very, very, very difficult to remember to place my trust in Him. To offer my sorrow, my pain and fear to Jesus.

I have been thinking a great deal about Blessed Mother Teresa in the past week as I try to understand how my fears and doubts coincide with my faith. I don't need to go into the details of her work in order to help one understand the intensity of what she encountered. Day in and day out she witnessed the pains and sufferings of millions of people. It is perfectly understandable, perfectly logical that she would experience doubt of God's love and mercy as a result. Where was His endless love and mercy while He allowed so many millions of His very own to suffer in such a way? Yet she never, ever gave up. Her doubt and her own grief for these people remained present throughout her ministry, as her writings published in Mother Teresa: Come Be My Light: The Private Writings of the Saint of Calcutta.

“If I ever become a Saint–I will surely be one of “darkness.” I will continually be absent from Heaven–to light the light of those in darkness on earth.”

–Mother Teresa of Calcutta   

Like Mother Teresa, I have not lost faith. I have not lost hope. I have not lost love. But those three can be hidden in the darkness of grief and fear. Her example of discipline is one I strive to model. Never give up. Keep listening. Even in darkness, keep watch. And by being disciplined like Blessed Mother Teresa, I have seen how God continues to call me. Continues to offer His grace so that I may push on.

He reveals His love to me through the Sacrament of Marriage. Some days I see God through my own sacrifices within our marriage. Others, God speaks directly through David's actions. David admits he does not always know what to say or how to provide reassurance, but there have been moments where he speaks so freely that it can be nothing less than the Holy Spirit guiding both of us toward God. Awe and wonder. Total awe and wonder in those moments.

I thank God for the gift of the Sacraments, for the very reason that when I feel alone or lost all I simply must do is turn to, or receive one of those Sacraments. In marriage, we receive the sacrament each time we give fully--that is physically, emotionally, mentally and spiritually--to each other, through the act of marital embrace (a.k.a. sex). I have the opportunity to receive the Sacrament of Holy Eucharist and witness God's unconditional love every day in the Mass. If I miss Mass on Sundays--and therefore miss Eucharist--boy, am I in bad shape. And of course there's the Sacrament of Reconciliation. This, of all the Sacraments, is the one I feel the most re-connection with God. I have come to understand the gift of the Sacraments more deeply as I have been working harder to fight through the darkness. God keeps calling. And I continue to [eventually] find him.

There are still times where not even receiving a Sacrament can help me feel God's love and presence in my life. Sometimes, the darkness I feel is well, dark. Last October, I stumbled upon a God's providence kind of moment. At that point, I experienced my first bit of really dark darkness. God was no where to be found (well, He was...I was just a bit distracted by my own fears at the time). And then, out of no where I decided to catch up on reading my blogs. That very day, Heather over at Mama Knows, Honeychild wrote "Go to Hell, You Old Bastard!" If you haven't read it yet and could use a strong belly laugh, I encourage you to do so. After you're done here, of course. Upon reading and laughing and crying over Heather's profound articulation of the push and pull of good vs. evil, I felt called to learn about the Divine Mercy Chaplet. For the first time in my life I completely offered my own cross to Jesus and His Divine Mercy. Windows were suddenly open in that nasty dark room. A weight seemed to be lifted off my chest. Since then, when the room darkens, when I feel like I can no longer carry my cross I pull out my Rosary beads (or my Laudate app, because we all know my phone goes with me everywhere and the Rosary does not necessarily...) and spend five minutes with Jesus. Amazing what a little time with Jesus can do to lighten the darkness in our lives.

A year later, I'd really like to say I have rid myself of fear and worry and anger and doubt. That I am in total peace. But the reality is, I will only be in total peace once I am received into Heaven. Until then, I will continue to struggle. I will continue to need the Sacraments and prayer. I will continue to need your prayers. I know many, many people in this world pray for us. I pray for you too. Thank you does not adequately express the gratitude I feel for your prayers. Will you in turn accept my prayers? May you be filled with intense faith and hope for Heaven and eternity with our Lord Jesus. And may God bless you always. Amen.