Just this one, weird thing about having published an article in a magazine that a lot of people in this community read:
I forget, sometimes, about this. So I am with this woman, and I'm kind of trying to make friends with her because I really like her and we sing in a chorus together and our sons are in nursery school together. I'm sort of casually trying to clue her into my life, along with some other people, when someone says, "Did you have an article in the newspaper last year? Or was it a magazine?" Actually, it was both, the Mothering Article and they ended up writing something really sweet and quite long in the newspaper before our Mother's Day walk which we did to raise funds for our support group. So I tell her this, that I had the newspaper in May and then the Mothering article in March.
And the woman I am trying to court says, 'Oh, was it really only in March? I feel like it was about a year and a half ago'.
Which makes me kind of sigh, and laugh to myself, because here I have been really nervous trying to talk about Charlotte and not say too much that I scare her away, but say enough that I feel comfortable, and meanwhile she knows the whole, entire, depth of my story. Written from my heart. It hadn't even crossed my mind.
Here it is at
www.mothering.com/articles/body_soul/grief_trauma/charlottes-grace.html
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
Sunday, December 9, 2007
Setting things straight
We know all too well that life is unpredictable and you never know what's coming next. So I like to keep my conscience clean. I just did something to clean out a little corner of my heart, and it feels good so far.
I have a dear cousin, born only 10 weeks before me, and we have been close since birth. She never had any sisters and she has always been very special to me. Her first baby was born on September 24th of this year, and of course we all know mine was Charlotte born 4 years and 6 months and 26 days ago. Not that I'm counting.
When Charlotte died, we kept with our original plan of going up to our summer cottage when she would have been 3 months old. We go for four or five weeks each summer and it is really our soul space there. The lake is peaceful and the old cottage echoes with the shadows of five generations of my family. We couldn't not go. But it was a challenge, and while we did some deep healing there, my extended family was not as outwardly supportive as our friends at home had been. This was challenging, and so we kept to ourselves most of the time.
Upon returning home I expressed some of this disappointment over e-mail to my special cousin. She herself had been very supportive of me, but hadn't been there that often. She began to write back with her take on the situation. Except that she hadn't ever had a baby, and in trying to defend and explain the behavior of some of our relatives, she ended up hurting my feelings. I ended the e-mail correspondence abrubtly, realizing too late that some things shouldn't ever be talked about on a computer screen. It's all too fast, too anonymous, and too easy to press send.
Julie and I never really talked about it again, except that there has been a little rift there ever since. I always felt I couldn't bring it up until she had a new perspective. I am hoping with the birth of her daughter, perhaps she can now see that I was in a pretty deranged spot and certainly I have the perspective at this point to forgive her for anything she said. I know her intentions were always for the best.
So today I sent her a letter to tell her that I loved her dearly and wanted that rift to go away, if she still felt it (which I suspect she does). It makes me glad to clear a little space in my heart because having aired those feelings I don't have to worry about them anymore. There are many things in my life that I think and worry about and I wish I could drag up the courage to think about more of them and act upon them.
I realize that I have some pretty big-ticket items in my emotional bank and it's important for me to do housecleaning when I can. Also I love the thought that something that's bringing me worries that doesn't have to can be erased from the list.
So that's one off my list. Now what shall be next...
I have a dear cousin, born only 10 weeks before me, and we have been close since birth. She never had any sisters and she has always been very special to me. Her first baby was born on September 24th of this year, and of course we all know mine was Charlotte born 4 years and 6 months and 26 days ago. Not that I'm counting.
When Charlotte died, we kept with our original plan of going up to our summer cottage when she would have been 3 months old. We go for four or five weeks each summer and it is really our soul space there. The lake is peaceful and the old cottage echoes with the shadows of five generations of my family. We couldn't not go. But it was a challenge, and while we did some deep healing there, my extended family was not as outwardly supportive as our friends at home had been. This was challenging, and so we kept to ourselves most of the time.
Upon returning home I expressed some of this disappointment over e-mail to my special cousin. She herself had been very supportive of me, but hadn't been there that often. She began to write back with her take on the situation. Except that she hadn't ever had a baby, and in trying to defend and explain the behavior of some of our relatives, she ended up hurting my feelings. I ended the e-mail correspondence abrubtly, realizing too late that some things shouldn't ever be talked about on a computer screen. It's all too fast, too anonymous, and too easy to press send.
Julie and I never really talked about it again, except that there has been a little rift there ever since. I always felt I couldn't bring it up until she had a new perspective. I am hoping with the birth of her daughter, perhaps she can now see that I was in a pretty deranged spot and certainly I have the perspective at this point to forgive her for anything she said. I know her intentions were always for the best.
So today I sent her a letter to tell her that I loved her dearly and wanted that rift to go away, if she still felt it (which I suspect she does). It makes me glad to clear a little space in my heart because having aired those feelings I don't have to worry about them anymore. There are many things in my life that I think and worry about and I wish I could drag up the courage to think about more of them and act upon them.
I realize that I have some pretty big-ticket items in my emotional bank and it's important for me to do housecleaning when I can. Also I love the thought that something that's bringing me worries that doesn't have to can be erased from the list.
So that's one off my list. Now what shall be next...
Friday, December 7, 2007
Why?
I have a heavy heart.
I just received an email from my dear friend Aimee.
Aimee lost her daughter, Sophie, last winter. The situation was beyond complicated. Sophie, who was the living twin in a pregnancy in which one twin was a molar pregnancy, died as the result of complications when Aimee's hormone levels became toxic and her organ systems began to shut down. Nobody had realized there was a molar pregnancy in there with Sophie as this is practically a medically undocumented situation. Aimee began to bleed out, and Sophie died.
Aimee almost died, too.
And everyone said, You are so lucky to be alive!
Nobody worried too, too much about Sophie, because Aimee was SO lucky to be alive.
That's what they said to her, anyway.
But Aimee worried quite a bit about Sophie, her third daughter who had died at 37 weeks gestation, who she never saw or held because she was in a coma.
Of course, Aimee's heart is broken. Quite.
With joy, Aimee announced to me a month ago that she was again pregnant. We were so happy together.
Today I read this on my email
The baby died.
I have a D & C tomorrow.
I can't write right now.
Oh, oh, oh.
I can't write right now either.
Why do such sad things happen to such good people?
I just received an email from my dear friend Aimee.
Aimee lost her daughter, Sophie, last winter. The situation was beyond complicated. Sophie, who was the living twin in a pregnancy in which one twin was a molar pregnancy, died as the result of complications when Aimee's hormone levels became toxic and her organ systems began to shut down. Nobody had realized there was a molar pregnancy in there with Sophie as this is practically a medically undocumented situation. Aimee began to bleed out, and Sophie died.
Aimee almost died, too.
And everyone said, You are so lucky to be alive!
Nobody worried too, too much about Sophie, because Aimee was SO lucky to be alive.
That's what they said to her, anyway.
But Aimee worried quite a bit about Sophie, her third daughter who had died at 37 weeks gestation, who she never saw or held because she was in a coma.
Of course, Aimee's heart is broken. Quite.
With joy, Aimee announced to me a month ago that she was again pregnant. We were so happy together.
Today I read this on my email
The baby died.
I have a D & C tomorrow.
I can't write right now.
Oh, oh, oh.
I can't write right now either.
Why do such sad things happen to such good people?
Wednesday, December 5, 2007
Aoife's birth
Victorious.
You will later learn the whole story of Liam's birth. I still cannot tell the story without crying. I can tell people about Charlotte and her death with an almost straight face, but I tear up when I think of his birth.
But he almost died, too.
I was terrified to be late with Aoife. Charlotte was 8 days late, and Liam was induced, but at 10 cm. was delivered by c-section because he was suddenly breech with (maybe?) his cord under him. So Aoife, I just had to wait for. And if she was too, too late? They might cut me open again to get her, too.
But I digress. Here is her story.
It was the 27th of March. Early in my pregnancy an ultrasound had said this would be my due date, but as it was only 5 days off of my period due date, I had kept the date of March 31 in my head. This day, the 27th, was a Monday. Our car was in the shop. Liam slept until 7:30 and I arose early. I had had some contractions in the night after some attempts (undisclosed) to induce labour and so took a long, hot shower (a real luxury with a toddler, you may realize) just in case I didn't get a shower for a while. Through the next 2 hours I had some contractions every 15 minutes and then they stopped. As I knew they would.
What a day Liam and I had. We just played. We drew with chalk and wandered around the yard. He had a "pointer", a long stick that he would use to find the bulbs that were poking their heads through the damp spring earth. We were together and we did what our hearts told us to do.
Later in the afternoon, I looked at the calendar. It was the 27th of March. The ultrasound due date and also one of 5 days around my due date that Trudy, the nurse that had accompanied us for the births of Charlotte and Liam and was now our family's fairy godmother, would be working. I said to myself, "I guess that baby's not coming today". It was already 3.
When Liam awoke from his nap I took him for a long walk, down the street past the dairy farm to see the horses, and I was contracting intermittently this whole time. I am a big contraction girl. All through my first 2 pregnancies I contracted all the time. So this meant nothing. And they were random.
Until I got home, and listened to a message from Greg saying he would be skipping that evening's class at UMass because he felt a little sick. A few minutes later, around 4:35 or so, he came home. About 5 minutes later I had a real contraction. And 5 minutes after that, and after that, so that by 5 pm. I felt I couldn't comfortably ride in a car and really needed to see my midwife.
I was so scared that my water would break at home.
I settled Liam in his high chair and called Gina who would take care of him. She came in 10 minutes, and I was doubled over singing my birth song.
I kissed my baby boy and cried deeply as I walked out the door. My life alone with my little son, my saviour, was about to change forever. I hoped.
We arrived at our hospital and went up to the birthing center. Trudy met us with hugs. She had pilfered some flowers from a departing family's room and put them in our room. Our midwife, Amy, checked me. At this point I was half expecting to be sent home in false labor. 6 1/2 cm. I was having my baby. The monitor was on and her heart was still beating.
I was so happy. I had my Greg, and my Trudy, and that was all I needed. I didn't even really need the midwife. Trudy knew us so well, and Greg was so good at this. And so was I. I sat on the birthing ball and sang my song, over and over, a deep, Jacob-marley-esque dial tone of a noise, and as a contraction subsided I would lapse back into the conversation I had left behind.
3 hours later I knew it was time. Amy checked me and I was almost ready to go. Could I push? I had a little rim of cervix left.
Amy asked me if I could roll over on my side so she could just look as I gave a little "trial" push to see if the half-centimeter or so of cervix that was left would give with a little push. Strangely, as I gave her this field of vision and relaxed on my side, my contrations stopped for a minute. Maybe 3. It was a welcome reprieve. I was so happy. The baby's heart still beat strongly.
I gave my sample push. Down came the head. Trudy said, "You're having a baby!" and with two more pushes my little baby's head was out, and her shoulders, too, and I reached beneath her shoulders and pulled her to my chest, tiny and pink, covered in vernix.
She was so quiet, but she squeaked and groaned and nuzzled in like a kitten. As I had asked her to, Trudy covered my baby in a warm, white blanket so that nobody, not even us, could see the sex. I wanted to enjoy my baby here, in life, as I had in the womb, as an anonymous somebody who I loved with all my heart. This birth had happened so fast, and so beautifully, and she was already here, and I just needed to be with her for a minute before we moved on to the next stage.
She bleated like a little lamb. She looked different from Liam and Charlotte! I was surprised to see this being who did not resemble my two first children, who had been so alike. Finally I couldn't wait any longer. I peeked beneath the blanket and cried.
"I never thought I would bring another baby girl home," I said, and everyone in the room sighed pretty hard. I was weeping, but not like when Liam was born, because this birth had happened so smoothly and with so much joy and even confidence that I just wanted to trust this little girl, and I knew she was meant for me.
Of course. Of course this was the child for me. As Liam had been who he was, a calm, loving, beautiful little boy, who looked enough like his sister to reassure me that she lived alongside his spirit, but yet was a little boy to help me to know how very different they were. And now, two years and 11 months later, my next little girl, to give me the knowledge of having a daughter here to love.
Everything about baby Aoife was calm. She never, ever, ever, cried. She slept peacefully and nursed well. She loved to be held and would sleep on anyone. Aoife, Aoife. My sweet little girl number two. Have I ever told you the peace you bring me? You are without holds. You are mine. You are you. How I love you.
You will later learn the whole story of Liam's birth. I still cannot tell the story without crying. I can tell people about Charlotte and her death with an almost straight face, but I tear up when I think of his birth.
But he almost died, too.
I was terrified to be late with Aoife. Charlotte was 8 days late, and Liam was induced, but at 10 cm. was delivered by c-section because he was suddenly breech with (maybe?) his cord under him. So Aoife, I just had to wait for. And if she was too, too late? They might cut me open again to get her, too.
But I digress. Here is her story.
It was the 27th of March. Early in my pregnancy an ultrasound had said this would be my due date, but as it was only 5 days off of my period due date, I had kept the date of March 31 in my head. This day, the 27th, was a Monday. Our car was in the shop. Liam slept until 7:30 and I arose early. I had had some contractions in the night after some attempts (undisclosed) to induce labour and so took a long, hot shower (a real luxury with a toddler, you may realize) just in case I didn't get a shower for a while. Through the next 2 hours I had some contractions every 15 minutes and then they stopped. As I knew they would.
What a day Liam and I had. We just played. We drew with chalk and wandered around the yard. He had a "pointer", a long stick that he would use to find the bulbs that were poking their heads through the damp spring earth. We were together and we did what our hearts told us to do.
Later in the afternoon, I looked at the calendar. It was the 27th of March. The ultrasound due date and also one of 5 days around my due date that Trudy, the nurse that had accompanied us for the births of Charlotte and Liam and was now our family's fairy godmother, would be working. I said to myself, "I guess that baby's not coming today". It was already 3.
When Liam awoke from his nap I took him for a long walk, down the street past the dairy farm to see the horses, and I was contracting intermittently this whole time. I am a big contraction girl. All through my first 2 pregnancies I contracted all the time. So this meant nothing. And they were random.
Until I got home, and listened to a message from Greg saying he would be skipping that evening's class at UMass because he felt a little sick. A few minutes later, around 4:35 or so, he came home. About 5 minutes later I had a real contraction. And 5 minutes after that, and after that, so that by 5 pm. I felt I couldn't comfortably ride in a car and really needed to see my midwife.
I was so scared that my water would break at home.
I settled Liam in his high chair and called Gina who would take care of him. She came in 10 minutes, and I was doubled over singing my birth song.
I kissed my baby boy and cried deeply as I walked out the door. My life alone with my little son, my saviour, was about to change forever. I hoped.
We arrived at our hospital and went up to the birthing center. Trudy met us with hugs. She had pilfered some flowers from a departing family's room and put them in our room. Our midwife, Amy, checked me. At this point I was half expecting to be sent home in false labor. 6 1/2 cm. I was having my baby. The monitor was on and her heart was still beating.
I was so happy. I had my Greg, and my Trudy, and that was all I needed. I didn't even really need the midwife. Trudy knew us so well, and Greg was so good at this. And so was I. I sat on the birthing ball and sang my song, over and over, a deep, Jacob-marley-esque dial tone of a noise, and as a contraction subsided I would lapse back into the conversation I had left behind.
3 hours later I knew it was time. Amy checked me and I was almost ready to go. Could I push? I had a little rim of cervix left.
Amy asked me if I could roll over on my side so she could just look as I gave a little "trial" push to see if the half-centimeter or so of cervix that was left would give with a little push. Strangely, as I gave her this field of vision and relaxed on my side, my contrations stopped for a minute. Maybe 3. It was a welcome reprieve. I was so happy. The baby's heart still beat strongly.
I gave my sample push. Down came the head. Trudy said, "You're having a baby!" and with two more pushes my little baby's head was out, and her shoulders, too, and I reached beneath her shoulders and pulled her to my chest, tiny and pink, covered in vernix.
She was so quiet, but she squeaked and groaned and nuzzled in like a kitten. As I had asked her to, Trudy covered my baby in a warm, white blanket so that nobody, not even us, could see the sex. I wanted to enjoy my baby here, in life, as I had in the womb, as an anonymous somebody who I loved with all my heart. This birth had happened so fast, and so beautifully, and she was already here, and I just needed to be with her for a minute before we moved on to the next stage.
She bleated like a little lamb. She looked different from Liam and Charlotte! I was surprised to see this being who did not resemble my two first children, who had been so alike. Finally I couldn't wait any longer. I peeked beneath the blanket and cried.
"I never thought I would bring another baby girl home," I said, and everyone in the room sighed pretty hard. I was weeping, but not like when Liam was born, because this birth had happened so smoothly and with so much joy and even confidence that I just wanted to trust this little girl, and I knew she was meant for me.
Of course. Of course this was the child for me. As Liam had been who he was, a calm, loving, beautiful little boy, who looked enough like his sister to reassure me that she lived alongside his spirit, but yet was a little boy to help me to know how very different they were. And now, two years and 11 months later, my next little girl, to give me the knowledge of having a daughter here to love.
Everything about baby Aoife was calm. She never, ever, ever, cried. She slept peacefully and nursed well. She loved to be held and would sleep on anyone. Aoife, Aoife. My sweet little girl number two. Have I ever told you the peace you bring me? You are without holds. You are mine. You are you. How I love you.
Tuesday, December 4, 2007
Being a "good mom"
One of the things that's been difficult for me is the duality between what I've always felt was right and just making my kids happy, and the way this is hard to balance because I just want to lay myself down for Liam in gratitude.
It may sound strange to say Liam, since I have two living children. But there is this strange element to my relationship with Liam since he was the first baby after Charlotte died. I was still so completely ensconced with grief for the first year or so of his life, that his being is really wrapped up in that. By the time Aoife came around, and was swept up into my waiting arms after a quick and easy birth, joy was my state of being. She is also at a relatively un-challenging age--20 months-- so there really aren't many power struggles.
But not so much for my three year old beauty. Now I used to teach kindergarten, and I think I was pretty good at it. The kids in my class were happy, jolly, creative, and they did whatever I said. I could see that setting firm, consistent, sensible boundaries with clear incentives and consequences really made kids understand their world. This is really what being a little kid is all about: you want to know what is going on out there in the big bad world, who is going to protect you, and how much you can get away with. Kids are pretty much fine with not getting away with stuff, but it has to be clear that they are outside the boundaries.
So these are the things that I strive for with my children. It's not about being strict, it's about being nice. Being inconsistent isn't nice. Then kids can't trust their world. So if you can be firm and stick to your guns, then you are doing them a huge favor. They learn to trust their world, and are confident enough to make good choices for themselves.
So why do I sometimes feel that Liam isn't getting this? Because when it comes down to it I know he might not be here. When he gets upset and cries and lies down with big, huge, crocodile tears streaming down his lovely rosy cheeks I almost always try to figure out a way to stealthily give him a little bit of what he wants so that he doesn't really know I'm letting him get his way but he will be happy again. And he is happy again. But I see these meltdowns more and more often and I know that I need to be better. I guess relative to another child it might be pretty rare (we are only talking a few times a week) but I want to be better.
The good news is he is polite in public and is polite to his teachers and doesn't melt down at school (he goes to a nursery school 2 mornings a week. Big deal for me. He loves it, of course).
So I guess in theory I am doing my job.
I always tell myself that all you can strive for is for your child to be kind and well behaved to others. When at home they will always act a little wilder and a little ruder, because they know you will always love them.
Don't I know it.
Now with Aoife the only discipline issue I am dealing with is trying to get her to wait "until the sun comes up" to have any milk. At the rate she is going I will definitely have her weaned by high school so I guess that's okay. Sigh.
I do think I am a good mom but I also know that I am really sentimental and just addicted to my kids and that often my vision is clouded by this.
Now, don't get me wrong. I am GLAD to have this clouded vision, it makes me love and appreciate them in such a unique way and it ties me to Charlotte and the gifts she left me with every day. But I still worry about the trivial things just like anyone.
It may sound strange to say Liam, since I have two living children. But there is this strange element to my relationship with Liam since he was the first baby after Charlotte died. I was still so completely ensconced with grief for the first year or so of his life, that his being is really wrapped up in that. By the time Aoife came around, and was swept up into my waiting arms after a quick and easy birth, joy was my state of being. She is also at a relatively un-challenging age--20 months-- so there really aren't many power struggles.
But not so much for my three year old beauty. Now I used to teach kindergarten, and I think I was pretty good at it. The kids in my class were happy, jolly, creative, and they did whatever I said. I could see that setting firm, consistent, sensible boundaries with clear incentives and consequences really made kids understand their world. This is really what being a little kid is all about: you want to know what is going on out there in the big bad world, who is going to protect you, and how much you can get away with. Kids are pretty much fine with not getting away with stuff, but it has to be clear that they are outside the boundaries.
So these are the things that I strive for with my children. It's not about being strict, it's about being nice. Being inconsistent isn't nice. Then kids can't trust their world. So if you can be firm and stick to your guns, then you are doing them a huge favor. They learn to trust their world, and are confident enough to make good choices for themselves.
So why do I sometimes feel that Liam isn't getting this? Because when it comes down to it I know he might not be here. When he gets upset and cries and lies down with big, huge, crocodile tears streaming down his lovely rosy cheeks I almost always try to figure out a way to stealthily give him a little bit of what he wants so that he doesn't really know I'm letting him get his way but he will be happy again. And he is happy again. But I see these meltdowns more and more often and I know that I need to be better. I guess relative to another child it might be pretty rare (we are only talking a few times a week) but I want to be better.
The good news is he is polite in public and is polite to his teachers and doesn't melt down at school (he goes to a nursery school 2 mornings a week. Big deal for me. He loves it, of course).
So I guess in theory I am doing my job.
I always tell myself that all you can strive for is for your child to be kind and well behaved to others. When at home they will always act a little wilder and a little ruder, because they know you will always love them.
Don't I know it.
Now with Aoife the only discipline issue I am dealing with is trying to get her to wait "until the sun comes up" to have any milk. At the rate she is going I will definitely have her weaned by high school so I guess that's okay. Sigh.
I do think I am a good mom but I also know that I am really sentimental and just addicted to my kids and that often my vision is clouded by this.
Now, don't get me wrong. I am GLAD to have this clouded vision, it makes me love and appreciate them in such a unique way and it ties me to Charlotte and the gifts she left me with every day. But I still worry about the trivial things just like anyone.
Sunday, December 2, 2007
Fear
I found a beautiful picture frame that I want to buy.
It is very expensive.
It is tall (20") and wide (12") and has a little square on the top for your picture.
The poem written on it is ee cummings
i carry your heart
with me (i carry it
in my heart) i am
never without it
(anywhere i go
you go, my dear)
then your child's name is written on top, above the picture.
Charlotte Amelia.
Now, that name, we chose because we loved it. Charlotte has always been one of my favorite names, and this was why I wanted to use it. I was named after my father's mother, Carol, who died before I was born. Very beautiful, strong, adored woman, amazing mother. She was named for her Uncle, Charles Mitchell, who died in WWI, Carol being one feminine form of Charles. So I thought it would be pretty cool to use another feminine for Charles, thus carrying on this little tradition.
Want to know something weird? My grandmother, Carol, and I both delivered our first child, a girl, on the same day. May 13. Sixty years apart. Want to know something weirder? Her mother was also born on May 13th. So my aunt, Margot, and her grandmother, and my daughter, were all born on the same day.
And guess what? My grandmother died from an aneurism. And then my aunt had an aneurism and almost died. And then my daughter's cord got all smashed up and she died, too. Shit luck, huh.
The reason I am telling this is because I have this weird thing that I am going to die from an aneurism, too. I keep wanting to go to the doctor and get a head scan just to look to see if things look okay. They can do this, you know. Just look at the vasculature of your brain and see how things are flowing. I want this. Hopefully some day, before the aneurism gets me, I will be brave enough to ask for it.
The fear I feel for myself is so real. There are so many kinds of fear I feel. I still feel afraid that Charlotte died. This is hard to understand. But when I think "my baby died", and I think to that very, very, VERY brief moment between thinking things were fine and thinking maybe they weren't, and the fear that instantly boiled up in me like a fever, I can still feel the fear. Because I still don't want it to happen.
The strangest part is that I am not fearful, so much, of my two living souls. When Liam was newborn, I did fear for him. He did that newborn breathing thing, of course, where they kind of hold their breath, and then draw in this huge ragged breath, and then hold it some more. I was sure he was going to die. I didn't want him in my bed, just in case, and I didn't want him out of reach, just in case. It was hard. But after a while, when his body gained some form, and his eyes began to focus and I could see that he was a little person with his own, sturdy presence in this world, I started to trust him. And it has been like this since then. I trust my children. I have always trusted Aoife.
But this is a defense mechanism, of course, because I am fully aware that something might happen, but I love them too much to actually fantasize about it happening. When I was pregnant with them I would walk through the scenarios for "when they died". Seriously. Who I'd call first, different things I might do with memorials, etc. But once they were out and they were breathing with their lungs I was okay.
But I do fear for myself. I worry about cancers I can't see or feel, that might be eating away at me. You just never know what's happening inside your body, do you? I'd like to go in and have a nice cat scan or something, just to check every organ and bone and artery just to make sure I'm not about to die.
Dying would just be another way I could miss out on my children's lives. And I must see them grow old.
This is what I always said to Liam when he was a baby
Dear god and great spirits, we're so grateful for our sweet baby Liam. We hope that he will have a long, and healthy, and happy life and that he'll live to be an old, old man.
We're so grateful for our baby Charlotte, she taught us so much about life and love. We pray that she's safe in the stars and that she knows how much we love her
we pray that baby sprout will be born safe and alive and will live a long and healthy and happy life and live to be old
and we pray that mimi and daddy will have a long and healthy life and will live to see their children grow old
I don't have a religious belief so I felt like a prayer like this offered hope that maybe out there someone was listening. And wouldn't it be great if someone were. I do like to think that I'll be able to present the possibility of a deity to my children so that they could have that option if they choose. It's all about open mindedness, right?
One time Liam asked, Can grown ups die?
This was when I realized that the only people he's ever know who have died are babies.
He knows Erin, whose baby Birdie died, and Dana, whose baby Pearl died, and Priya, whose babies Roman and Hamid died, and Jack and Isabelle whose baby Emma died, and he knows Marla whose baby Joey died. He's never known a grown up to die. So I had to set him straight, and just tell him that he knows an unusual number of babies who have died, but that usually people don't die until they are very, very old.
Because this is what you should have the gift of believing when you are a child.
by the by, the frame is from www. kookoobearkids.com
It is very expensive.
It is tall (20") and wide (12") and has a little square on the top for your picture.
The poem written on it is ee cummings
i carry your heart
with me (i carry it
in my heart) i am
never without it
(anywhere i go
you go, my dear)
then your child's name is written on top, above the picture.
Charlotte Amelia.
Now, that name, we chose because we loved it. Charlotte has always been one of my favorite names, and this was why I wanted to use it. I was named after my father's mother, Carol, who died before I was born. Very beautiful, strong, adored woman, amazing mother. She was named for her Uncle, Charles Mitchell, who died in WWI, Carol being one feminine form of Charles. So I thought it would be pretty cool to use another feminine for Charles, thus carrying on this little tradition.
Want to know something weird? My grandmother, Carol, and I both delivered our first child, a girl, on the same day. May 13. Sixty years apart. Want to know something weirder? Her mother was also born on May 13th. So my aunt, Margot, and her grandmother, and my daughter, were all born on the same day.
And guess what? My grandmother died from an aneurism. And then my aunt had an aneurism and almost died. And then my daughter's cord got all smashed up and she died, too. Shit luck, huh.
The reason I am telling this is because I have this weird thing that I am going to die from an aneurism, too. I keep wanting to go to the doctor and get a head scan just to look to see if things look okay. They can do this, you know. Just look at the vasculature of your brain and see how things are flowing. I want this. Hopefully some day, before the aneurism gets me, I will be brave enough to ask for it.
The fear I feel for myself is so real. There are so many kinds of fear I feel. I still feel afraid that Charlotte died. This is hard to understand. But when I think "my baby died", and I think to that very, very, VERY brief moment between thinking things were fine and thinking maybe they weren't, and the fear that instantly boiled up in me like a fever, I can still feel the fear. Because I still don't want it to happen.
The strangest part is that I am not fearful, so much, of my two living souls. When Liam was newborn, I did fear for him. He did that newborn breathing thing, of course, where they kind of hold their breath, and then draw in this huge ragged breath, and then hold it some more. I was sure he was going to die. I didn't want him in my bed, just in case, and I didn't want him out of reach, just in case. It was hard. But after a while, when his body gained some form, and his eyes began to focus and I could see that he was a little person with his own, sturdy presence in this world, I started to trust him. And it has been like this since then. I trust my children. I have always trusted Aoife.
But this is a defense mechanism, of course, because I am fully aware that something might happen, but I love them too much to actually fantasize about it happening. When I was pregnant with them I would walk through the scenarios for "when they died". Seriously. Who I'd call first, different things I might do with memorials, etc. But once they were out and they were breathing with their lungs I was okay.
But I do fear for myself. I worry about cancers I can't see or feel, that might be eating away at me. You just never know what's happening inside your body, do you? I'd like to go in and have a nice cat scan or something, just to check every organ and bone and artery just to make sure I'm not about to die.
Dying would just be another way I could miss out on my children's lives. And I must see them grow old.
This is what I always said to Liam when he was a baby
Dear god and great spirits, we're so grateful for our sweet baby Liam. We hope that he will have a long, and healthy, and happy life and that he'll live to be an old, old man.
We're so grateful for our baby Charlotte, she taught us so much about life and love. We pray that she's safe in the stars and that she knows how much we love her
we pray that baby sprout will be born safe and alive and will live a long and healthy and happy life and live to be old
and we pray that mimi and daddy will have a long and healthy life and will live to see their children grow old
I don't have a religious belief so I felt like a prayer like this offered hope that maybe out there someone was listening. And wouldn't it be great if someone were. I do like to think that I'll be able to present the possibility of a deity to my children so that they could have that option if they choose. It's all about open mindedness, right?
One time Liam asked, Can grown ups die?
This was when I realized that the only people he's ever know who have died are babies.
He knows Erin, whose baby Birdie died, and Dana, whose baby Pearl died, and Priya, whose babies Roman and Hamid died, and Jack and Isabelle whose baby Emma died, and he knows Marla whose baby Joey died. He's never known a grown up to die. So I had to set him straight, and just tell him that he knows an unusual number of babies who have died, but that usually people don't die until they are very, very old.
Because this is what you should have the gift of believing when you are a child.
by the by, the frame is from www. kookoobearkids.com
Saturday, December 1, 2007
Today I have six minutes.
That's fine.
Here are the few things I want to say.
I call myself Charlotte's mama for this reason. My two living babies are always with me. Everyone who sees me knows I am Liam and Aoife's mother. So it's nice when I have the opportunity to be Charlotte's mama.
I also want to tell you (who is you, I wonder? I write as if to an audience. This is very interesting to me) about Aoife's name.
We say it "Eh-fa"-- kind of like Ava with an f but a little flatter, the end a little more like feh than fah.
And I chose it because it's the Gaelic for Eve, which means Life or Living one. Could there be a more perfect name for my little living daughter?
Liam means resolute protector. We chose it because we liked it but I also felt that he was going to save me (he did) and protect me while he was here. He does.
Having my children here brings me SO much joy. They fill me. But there are these moments.
Today we got a beautiful Christmas tree. As Liam hung the first ornament on the perfectly lit, triangle shaped balsam fir in our fire-lit living room, Greg burst into tears. The kids looked so beautiful. If I had more than 2 minutes until our babysitter arrived I would put a picture of them. All happy things are sad, too, for us. Liam climbed on Greg's lap and said, I know you miss Charlotte. He cried into Liam's sweater.
Here's another thing. I now have a blog but basically I'm media free so this is a pretty big leap for me. No TV or Newspaper or anything like that. I have found it easier to live in my own little world and keep it that way. Greg tells me what he learns on NPR on the way to or from work if it might affect me but mostly I know not much. And of course this means a very slow dial up connection for our internet so you'll (there it is again! This imaginary you. I like this!) have to excuse me.
Tonight I will go to a Christmas party. I will laugh and tell stories with all these wonderful people and some of them will know about my Charlotte but some of them won't. I'll get a chance to mention her casually to some of them (I always look for ways to work her into the conversation). But I will smile and laugh and have fun.
That's fine.
Here are the few things I want to say.
I call myself Charlotte's mama for this reason. My two living babies are always with me. Everyone who sees me knows I am Liam and Aoife's mother. So it's nice when I have the opportunity to be Charlotte's mama.
I also want to tell you (who is you, I wonder? I write as if to an audience. This is very interesting to me) about Aoife's name.
We say it "Eh-fa"-- kind of like Ava with an f but a little flatter, the end a little more like feh than fah.
And I chose it because it's the Gaelic for Eve, which means Life or Living one. Could there be a more perfect name for my little living daughter?
Liam means resolute protector. We chose it because we liked it but I also felt that he was going to save me (he did) and protect me while he was here. He does.
Having my children here brings me SO much joy. They fill me. But there are these moments.
Today we got a beautiful Christmas tree. As Liam hung the first ornament on the perfectly lit, triangle shaped balsam fir in our fire-lit living room, Greg burst into tears. The kids looked so beautiful. If I had more than 2 minutes until our babysitter arrived I would put a picture of them. All happy things are sad, too, for us. Liam climbed on Greg's lap and said, I know you miss Charlotte. He cried into Liam's sweater.
Here's another thing. I now have a blog but basically I'm media free so this is a pretty big leap for me. No TV or Newspaper or anything like that. I have found it easier to live in my own little world and keep it that way. Greg tells me what he learns on NPR on the way to or from work if it might affect me but mostly I know not much. And of course this means a very slow dial up connection for our internet so you'll (there it is again! This imaginary you. I like this!) have to excuse me.
Tonight I will go to a Christmas party. I will laugh and tell stories with all these wonderful people and some of them will know about my Charlotte but some of them won't. I'll get a chance to mention her casually to some of them (I always look for ways to work her into the conversation). But I will smile and laugh and have fun.
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