We are, what I'm sure many would consider, beyond blessed. Not only do we have a roof over our heads, but we have soooo much space under that roof. Not only do we have a full fridge, but at times we don't eat food fast enough and have to throw some in the compost. Or we've eaten so much we feel stuffed. Not only can we afford to pay our bills each month, but we put money in to savings and then have extra to spend on silly things. But, we didn't always have this. We have worked so hard, and continue to do so, to afford the basics and the extras. I want to say that I think we deserve the things we have because we worked so hard to get to this place in life, but I still feel guilty at times that we can have so much when others still have so little, if anything at all.
What I never want to do is brag or sound like we're bragging about the extra things we get to have these days. I'd so much rather we just be grateful for what we get to have, and that others can see and feel how grateful we are. And I do my best to be humble, to not be flashy or showy. Which is hard when some of the things we enjoy are larger, typically flashy. Like cars. Cars aren't cheap, and we love them. The aesthetics, the drive, etc. We'll probably always be buying the next best car. But it's also one of our hobbies.
I think what I've really struggled with as of late is how our economic status now affords us even more, and the "even more" tends to be free. For instance, we recently had the opportunity to test out a new system for a company, and to test it we were given a gift card every week to buy things. This lasted for months. Could we afford to buy things like packs of batteries or a new pan each week? Sure. We didn't need the gift cards, but it sure was awesome to get so much stuff (and stuff we actually wanted, key word, wanted...not needed) for free. But why isn't an opportunity like this available to disadvantaged people? Someone who can't afford to buy a couple of light bulbs when some go out in their apartment? Someone who would buy diapers, or formula instead of a few random baking utensils that haven't been touched in months. Instead, those who can do more than just afford the extra fun things are most likely to receive the opportunity to have things that aren't necessary for free. We accept them happily. But at times it definitely feels greedy. And I worry that we just perpetuate a system that only seeks to further separate the haves from the have nots.
But it's not so easy to just flip the system and have these opportunities available to those who have less. How do we choose who gets these opportunities? Sooo many people could benefit, and yet it's usually just a very small subset of people testing out the product.
It's ponderings like this that drive me to do more for those around me in my community and sometimes even worldwide. To give, and always think of those less fortunate than us. To wonder how I, my family, or even my friends, can do more. One small thing we are doing is collecting items for foster children in the area via P's birthday. This kid has so much, and he doesn't need anything more at this point. So this is something we can do for other kids his age who are in need. Because there is always more that can be done.
And because we got a lotta love to give.
Friday, March 2, 2018
Friday, February 23, 2018
Killjoy
Unless I'm with my fellow DBC friends, the topic of having kids and being pregnant often leads to awkward questions as people try to include to me, but then hesitate. Why do they hesitate? It's painfully obvious that they don't really want to know more about my not-so-joyful birth experiences. Which is hard as I want to still be included when chatting about c-sections versus labor, and breastfeeding versus bottle feeding. But, our story is so different from the vast majority of the people we know. And it tends to lead to being excluded for being a killjoy in the conversation.
Recently, some girlfriends and I got together to celebrate a friend moving away soon, excited to see her once more before she moves halfway across the country and we see her less often. She has a tiny baby, and so much of the conversation involved new parenting ideas, birth, and experiences. At one point, one was asking about each of our birth experiences, c-section versus natural (and how natural), and she hesitated for a moment before asking me. And when she asked, it was only if I'd had a c-section. Singular. I'm making some assumptions, but possibly hoping to not bring up our first birth story. I answered boldly that I'd had two c-sections. And, as often happens, silence ensued.
Later in the evening, discussion changed to how often or quickly each of us were having our kids. How close together did we want to have them, why that could be advantageous, and how it all was happening in reality for each of us. I said that if we could have more kids, we had wanted to have them close together, boom boom boom. And kind of timidly added that we did want more. Again, brief silence, some awkward moments before another question to redirect was asked and conversation flowed elsewhere.
I'm not sure what I want exactly, as I even have trouble at times dealing with talking about these life decisions. But what makes it so hard for us is that they weren't a decision we got to make it. It was made for us and we're left wondering why all the time. But ignoring and changing the topic, as often happens, most definitely doesn't help matters. It's disheartening, and leads me to withdraw over the course of the conversation in order to not have to subject everyone around me to the other side of raising a family. The side that isn't perfect and involves heartache and loss. But, I shouldn't have to hide my feelings, especially amongst close friends.
It makes me appreciate my friends who have opened themselves so completely to my grief journey. Those that don't shy away from talking about both my boys, both of my birth experiences, and my pain that is coupled with my joy. It means the world to me to be able to have those few moments of true expression instead of hiding what's in my heart. And I find myself gravitating towards those friends more often as experiences like the ones above continue to happen with other groups of friends.
It's okay to ask me if this aspect of child-rearing totally sucks. The part that took away one child and left us with, yes, just one. Just one child that you can see, not the two that are forever in my heart. It doesn't have to derail conversation completely, and talk of loss doesn't have to last for the rest of the evening. That's what therapy is for (thankfully). But, please just allow me my few minutes of grief, to share it with those I love in exchange for support and empathy.
I hope that I am able to provide for others in this way, too, who are dealing with grief. That I can practice what I preach and show availability in my heart to allow others to grieve as they need to even when I find it difficult to hear it. Because it is hard to not focus on only joy. It's a constant challenge, to continually open yourself up to others' pain. But it's possible, and it's so needed by those grieving.
A constant goal to be better for those around me.
Because I got a lotta love to give.
Recently, some girlfriends and I got together to celebrate a friend moving away soon, excited to see her once more before she moves halfway across the country and we see her less often. She has a tiny baby, and so much of the conversation involved new parenting ideas, birth, and experiences. At one point, one was asking about each of our birth experiences, c-section versus natural (and how natural), and she hesitated for a moment before asking me. And when she asked, it was only if I'd had a c-section. Singular. I'm making some assumptions, but possibly hoping to not bring up our first birth story. I answered boldly that I'd had two c-sections. And, as often happens, silence ensued.
Later in the evening, discussion changed to how often or quickly each of us were having our kids. How close together did we want to have them, why that could be advantageous, and how it all was happening in reality for each of us. I said that if we could have more kids, we had wanted to have them close together, boom boom boom. And kind of timidly added that we did want more. Again, brief silence, some awkward moments before another question to redirect was asked and conversation flowed elsewhere.
I'm not sure what I want exactly, as I even have trouble at times dealing with talking about these life decisions. But what makes it so hard for us is that they weren't a decision we got to make it. It was made for us and we're left wondering why all the time. But ignoring and changing the topic, as often happens, most definitely doesn't help matters. It's disheartening, and leads me to withdraw over the course of the conversation in order to not have to subject everyone around me to the other side of raising a family. The side that isn't perfect and involves heartache and loss. But, I shouldn't have to hide my feelings, especially amongst close friends.
It makes me appreciate my friends who have opened themselves so completely to my grief journey. Those that don't shy away from talking about both my boys, both of my birth experiences, and my pain that is coupled with my joy. It means the world to me to be able to have those few moments of true expression instead of hiding what's in my heart. And I find myself gravitating towards those friends more often as experiences like the ones above continue to happen with other groups of friends.
It's okay to ask me if this aspect of child-rearing totally sucks. The part that took away one child and left us with, yes, just one. Just one child that you can see, not the two that are forever in my heart. It doesn't have to derail conversation completely, and talk of loss doesn't have to last for the rest of the evening. That's what therapy is for (thankfully). But, please just allow me my few minutes of grief, to share it with those I love in exchange for support and empathy.
I hope that I am able to provide for others in this way, too, who are dealing with grief. That I can practice what I preach and show availability in my heart to allow others to grieve as they need to even when I find it difficult to hear it. Because it is hard to not focus on only joy. It's a constant challenge, to continually open yourself up to others' pain. But it's possible, and it's so needed by those grieving.
A constant goal to be better for those around me.
Because I got a lotta love to give.
Friday, February 9, 2018
#metoo
A few weeks ago, I participated in the Women's March 2.0, which is an amazing show of support for women throughout the world. And not just by women, but by men as well. This demonstration comes again after the #metoo movement started on social media, bringing light to the very real and constant abuse of women throughout every aspect of our lives.
To be clear, I have not been raped, but that doesn't undermine the sexual assaults I have experienced. They did, however, make me very uncomfortable, and only I can determine how they made me feel and what justifies them as sexual assault. The experiences range from early childhood to early adulthood, and are from girls as well as men throughout my life. Some from strangers, some were even considered friends. This #metoo movement brings up a lot of pain and anger for many women, and even men, across our country and world wide. But I am thankful for the ability to speak out, and it leaves me wondering what is next. At this point, we're saying, "you can't just do these despicable things and get away with it so easily any more."
This movement also highlights the deep disgust many feel for our current president. Many will deny this, but his dismissiveness of this ill treatment of women is what allows men to continue to pray upon women in such horrid ways. He makes it out to be nothing, which makes it okay in others minds. And this is just perpetuating a deep rooted problem. It is outrageous that there some in my own family who feel the "locker room talk" excuse is completely valid and appropriate, that it explains everything. Again, this just perpetuates the ill treatment toward women. Seeing comments from family defending this made me feel sick to my stomach. If these men, some of them very close to me, feel this way, how can I trust I'll be okay around them? That if I had a girl, she'd be safe? Certainly by their words there would be no defense of emotional support if something were to happen. They probably think it's the woman's fault. And sadly, there hasn't been any defense or support for those in my family who have been raped. These actions cannot be so easily dismissed. And the lack of support is most definitely not forgotten. It makes me feel outraged, and I've honestly lost all respect for those who stand by this "locker room talk" excuse.
Shortly after the president was elected, one family member posted a meme basically saying that if it's okay for female comedians to speak crudely, then it's okay for the president to speak crudely about women. Other family members chimed in with their "damn straight!!" and "yes, exactly!!" But they are completely missing the point being made by these so-called crude female comedians. It is actually the exact opposite of the crude remarks our president stands by. Crudely joking about being prayed upon is not equal to crudely joking about praying upon women. Being assaulted versus assaulting. They are so blind to this obvious difference. And sadly, all I can do is shake my head and just keep my son away from these people as much as possible. I've unfriended, hidden, removed, etc, etc, etc. I fear these negative influences will lead him astray and he could potentially do something that seems innocent by some people's standards, but in light of the #metoo movement, is crossing boundaries. And then what would become of him? We must teach him these boundaries, and pray that he learns to stay away from these negative influences in his life. There's almost a desperate drive to do this, as a way to protect him as well.
Politics shouldn't divide family, but when it brings out their true colors and degrading view points against the women in their lives, this is when division happens. So, instead of allowing their harsh negative views to enter my life daily, I am now filling my news feeds with the strong and courageous women in my life who inspire me to do more. They continue to put themselves out in to the limelight despite the sexist bullshit they deal with daily. They are fighting the good fight for equality and just treatment. And this doesn't stop with just women, it extends to the POC and LGBTQ communities as well. There are too many marginalized groups in this day and age, and it saddens my heart that we are still having these fights.
But, that's just it. We're still fighting. For equality, for justice, for love, and for so much more.
Because we got a lotta love to give.
To be clear, I have not been raped, but that doesn't undermine the sexual assaults I have experienced. They did, however, make me very uncomfortable, and only I can determine how they made me feel and what justifies them as sexual assault. The experiences range from early childhood to early adulthood, and are from girls as well as men throughout my life. Some from strangers, some were even considered friends. This #metoo movement brings up a lot of pain and anger for many women, and even men, across our country and world wide. But I am thankful for the ability to speak out, and it leaves me wondering what is next. At this point, we're saying, "you can't just do these despicable things and get away with it so easily any more."
This movement also highlights the deep disgust many feel for our current president. Many will deny this, but his dismissiveness of this ill treatment of women is what allows men to continue to pray upon women in such horrid ways. He makes it out to be nothing, which makes it okay in others minds. And this is just perpetuating a deep rooted problem. It is outrageous that there some in my own family who feel the "locker room talk" excuse is completely valid and appropriate, that it explains everything. Again, this just perpetuates the ill treatment toward women. Seeing comments from family defending this made me feel sick to my stomach. If these men, some of them very close to me, feel this way, how can I trust I'll be okay around them? That if I had a girl, she'd be safe? Certainly by their words there would be no defense of emotional support if something were to happen. They probably think it's the woman's fault. And sadly, there hasn't been any defense or support for those in my family who have been raped. These actions cannot be so easily dismissed. And the lack of support is most definitely not forgotten. It makes me feel outraged, and I've honestly lost all respect for those who stand by this "locker room talk" excuse.
Shortly after the president was elected, one family member posted a meme basically saying that if it's okay for female comedians to speak crudely, then it's okay for the president to speak crudely about women. Other family members chimed in with their "damn straight!!" and "yes, exactly!!" But they are completely missing the point being made by these so-called crude female comedians. It is actually the exact opposite of the crude remarks our president stands by. Crudely joking about being prayed upon is not equal to crudely joking about praying upon women. Being assaulted versus assaulting. They are so blind to this obvious difference. And sadly, all I can do is shake my head and just keep my son away from these people as much as possible. I've unfriended, hidden, removed, etc, etc, etc. I fear these negative influences will lead him astray and he could potentially do something that seems innocent by some people's standards, but in light of the #metoo movement, is crossing boundaries. And then what would become of him? We must teach him these boundaries, and pray that he learns to stay away from these negative influences in his life. There's almost a desperate drive to do this, as a way to protect him as well.
Politics shouldn't divide family, but when it brings out their true colors and degrading view points against the women in their lives, this is when division happens. So, instead of allowing their harsh negative views to enter my life daily, I am now filling my news feeds with the strong and courageous women in my life who inspire me to do more. They continue to put themselves out in to the limelight despite the sexist bullshit they deal with daily. They are fighting the good fight for equality and just treatment. And this doesn't stop with just women, it extends to the POC and LGBTQ communities as well. There are too many marginalized groups in this day and age, and it saddens my heart that we are still having these fights.
But, that's just it. We're still fighting. For equality, for justice, for love, and for so much more.
Because we got a lotta love to give.
Friday, February 2, 2018
35 for 35
Sometimes I become overwhelmed thinking about all the people in need. And not just within the US, but throughout the entire world. From needing clean water, to just needing water period, those of us who are blessed beyond our means, whether we know it or not, have much work to do for those around us. For me, it's what being a Christian means. Going to church every Sunday, in my mind, isn't what makes someone a Christian. Anyone can sit through a lecture and leave and not follow through in their actions. To me, being a Christian means being called to action to serve those around me, near and far, who need help. And actually DOING SOMETHING to help them.
Each year we sit down and decide where our monetary donations will go for the year. We try to do a little more each year, as well. It's great to know we can take action in such a removed way, and have that action be so varied. But, that's the kicker, we're completely removed from the actual help. And it benefits us as we sit down to do our taxes each year, too. Don't get me wrong, we appreciate being able to help and have it benefit us, it's a great system that drives those with more to help those with less.
But how much does that help actually affect us spiritually, emotionally, mentally? Again, we're completely removed from doing anything really. How would it feel to actually be taking some action without a reward for us? Maybe you've heard of people doing so many actions a year for what age they are, a 20 for 20, or 30 for 30. Well, today I'm 35, and I decided at the beginning of the year that I need to do a 35 for 35. It's kind of a lot, 3 things a month to be set up and done. But, it's doable. It'll dig in to my personal time in which I have a million things that I *need* to get done. This will take some serious effort to set up each action. It's a big goal, but I'm ready to take it on.
I actually kicked it off with something last Friday. Each year, throughout the US, volunteers get in to their cars at 2am toward the end of January and count all the homeless people they can find throughout their county. These numbers are what are then used by groups to estimate the need they'll have to provide for this entire year. The more I read about it, the more I needed to do this. Helping the homeless has been something I've been drawn to do since I was much younger. I'd question my mom over and over again about the food waste from restaurants and grocery stores, why can't they just give it to the homeless. Why can't abandoned buildings be set up with cots, etc, etc. I met someone online a couple of years ago who had been homeless, and now is helping with her own programs, and I questioned her for days. My gut reaction to her answers was that the homeless don't actually need our help. As a whole, they are wanderers who have trouble fitting in to the confines of society. They want to camp year round, but this means being considered too dirty for a job that can afford them showers and clean clothes and hair cuts. They want to do their drugs in peace. But this means being looked down upon by a society that still doesn't fully understand addiction. My gut reaction, essentially, was why should anyone help them? Her response: they are still people who are having a hard time in life, who are less fortunate than you or I, and who still deserve three meals a day. Sometimes children are involved, which is heart breaking. Whether they want it or not, they still need help.
I now follow several homeless pages on Facebook, through which I learned of the counting project. Waking up at 1am to drive around a given area on a map seriously does not sound like fun. I feel nauseous when I don't get enough sleep, or have to wake up before 4am (seriously, I've puked before just from waking up super early). But, these people will only be able to have access to food and sanitary supplies if others know how many to prepare for in this year. They can't count themselves. It's a very coordinated effort that the leaders painstakingly do their best to train others to do. The territory to cover is HUGE. As of the training meeting, Renton did not have enough volunteers to cover the whole area that needed counting. And this scared me. How will these people get help if they're not counted in the first place?!? But by last Friday, the meeting place we were to all depart from was FILLED. This restored some faith in the world for me, and it felt like we could actually get this job done. This is a completely thankless job. There's no celebration, I don't get to see the numbers. I just know what I saw, and that was three different vehicles - two vans and a car - most definitely being lived in, something I can't imagine with the huge house we live in filled with so many possessions.
This was something bigger than me, and something that did not benefit me in any way. And it still felt good that I was able to participate and get my part of the job done. There are many other activities I hope to do in my 35th year, including volunteering at a soup kitchen, helping to make shoes for children in other countries affected by jiggers, putting together care bags for the homeless, etc. There is so much work to be done, work that is meaningful to others. Something that is more than just giving money to a group that hopefully does the appropriate things it says it will do with said money. And hopefully this will lead to a new habit that will continue on beyond my 35th year.
Because I got a lotta love to give.
Each year we sit down and decide where our monetary donations will go for the year. We try to do a little more each year, as well. It's great to know we can take action in such a removed way, and have that action be so varied. But, that's the kicker, we're completely removed from the actual help. And it benefits us as we sit down to do our taxes each year, too. Don't get me wrong, we appreciate being able to help and have it benefit us, it's a great system that drives those with more to help those with less.
But how much does that help actually affect us spiritually, emotionally, mentally? Again, we're completely removed from doing anything really. How would it feel to actually be taking some action without a reward for us? Maybe you've heard of people doing so many actions a year for what age they are, a 20 for 20, or 30 for 30. Well, today I'm 35, and I decided at the beginning of the year that I need to do a 35 for 35. It's kind of a lot, 3 things a month to be set up and done. But, it's doable. It'll dig in to my personal time in which I have a million things that I *need* to get done. This will take some serious effort to set up each action. It's a big goal, but I'm ready to take it on.
I actually kicked it off with something last Friday. Each year, throughout the US, volunteers get in to their cars at 2am toward the end of January and count all the homeless people they can find throughout their county. These numbers are what are then used by groups to estimate the need they'll have to provide for this entire year. The more I read about it, the more I needed to do this. Helping the homeless has been something I've been drawn to do since I was much younger. I'd question my mom over and over again about the food waste from restaurants and grocery stores, why can't they just give it to the homeless. Why can't abandoned buildings be set up with cots, etc, etc. I met someone online a couple of years ago who had been homeless, and now is helping with her own programs, and I questioned her for days. My gut reaction to her answers was that the homeless don't actually need our help. As a whole, they are wanderers who have trouble fitting in to the confines of society. They want to camp year round, but this means being considered too dirty for a job that can afford them showers and clean clothes and hair cuts. They want to do their drugs in peace. But this means being looked down upon by a society that still doesn't fully understand addiction. My gut reaction, essentially, was why should anyone help them? Her response: they are still people who are having a hard time in life, who are less fortunate than you or I, and who still deserve three meals a day. Sometimes children are involved, which is heart breaking. Whether they want it or not, they still need help.
I now follow several homeless pages on Facebook, through which I learned of the counting project. Waking up at 1am to drive around a given area on a map seriously does not sound like fun. I feel nauseous when I don't get enough sleep, or have to wake up before 4am (seriously, I've puked before just from waking up super early). But, these people will only be able to have access to food and sanitary supplies if others know how many to prepare for in this year. They can't count themselves. It's a very coordinated effort that the leaders painstakingly do their best to train others to do. The territory to cover is HUGE. As of the training meeting, Renton did not have enough volunteers to cover the whole area that needed counting. And this scared me. How will these people get help if they're not counted in the first place?!? But by last Friday, the meeting place we were to all depart from was FILLED. This restored some faith in the world for me, and it felt like we could actually get this job done. This is a completely thankless job. There's no celebration, I don't get to see the numbers. I just know what I saw, and that was three different vehicles - two vans and a car - most definitely being lived in, something I can't imagine with the huge house we live in filled with so many possessions.
This was something bigger than me, and something that did not benefit me in any way. And it still felt good that I was able to participate and get my part of the job done. There are many other activities I hope to do in my 35th year, including volunteering at a soup kitchen, helping to make shoes for children in other countries affected by jiggers, putting together care bags for the homeless, etc. There is so much work to be done, work that is meaningful to others. Something that is more than just giving money to a group that hopefully does the appropriate things it says it will do with said money. And hopefully this will lead to a new habit that will continue on beyond my 35th year.
Because I got a lotta love to give.
Friday, January 19, 2018
Guilt
Guilt is fairly common when dealing with child loss. And it's not just the personal aspects stemming from the events leading up to the loss that involve self blame, but this guilt extends to multiple avenues and in to some very different relationships. It can be difficult to navigate the relationships involved.
The first route of this guilt that I felt, and still feel most often, surrounds my relationships with my fellow loss community parents. We've all experienced the harrowing loss of a child. We've come together to support each other with this mutual understanding of pain, fear, and even jealousy toward the outside world of naive parents who haven't experienced a loss (and hopefully they never do, too). We cheer each other on when we are able to move forward and continue trying to build our families. And yet, not all of us have been able to move forward in this way. For many of us, it becomes a desperate struggle. We couldn't bring the lost child in to the world safely, so we must do things differently and get pregnant quickly and easily and have a healthy child. For me, the drive to do this was insane. I can't speak for the rest within my close group of the intensity of this drive, but for me, it was even stronger than my initial internal drive to have children before losing Korbin. But I have some very dear friends within my group that are still struggling, and it breaks my heart. They want a child with them just like any of us, but they haven't experienced the success of bringing one in to this world just yet. And it makes me feel so guilty that I get to have P. We're all friends on social media, where I want to share P's successes daily, but I also find myself holding back knowing there are others out there who want to be sharing the same things, but are not able to (hopefully just yet). I totally understand the feeling of jealousy toward those that have children, especially when we were without after leaving the hospital from Korbin's birth. Because I can understand from what I was feeling in that time before P, I can only try to imagine how it has intensified over time as so many around them have finally had children without them, and are continuing to do so. Each success must be a blow to their fragile hearts. They are just the sweetest, kindest, people. But I totally get it when they don't show up to the rainbow baby filled events the rest of us have these days. And man, that guilt though.
The next guilt I experienced, was from finding out some dear friends were stopping their fertility journey despite not having children from it. This one cuts hard and deep as I work in the fertility world and I want joy for every patient I work with. Granted, I'm in the lab, which is a bit removed clinically from the patient care. But every specimen, every case, we hope brings joy to the patients involved. And it is so disheartening when it doesn't. As I was telling some who just revealed the end to their fertility journey recently, we specialists hope for success for every patient who comes through our clinic, and it is so hard for us to accept that there wasn't anything we could do to help some. We want to think we have all the answers, can solve all the problems. But nothing, sadly, is one hundred percent. I feel especially touched by these losses having suffered a loss myself, which deepens my empathy toward the families dealing with this. And yet, I also recognize that it is not the same. We can get pregnant with ease, we've cleared that hurdle without issues. These people have not even been allowed that joy. While it hurts to know others experience loss as well (something I wouldn't even wish upon my worst enemy), their loss seems, to me, even deeper. And I don't know how to connect with that. I want to support their pain, but I tread lightly not knowing the right things to say. God forbid I ask about adoption or fostering, donor eggs or embryos. It's the natural next questions to ask, and yet I can remember being asked those questions after Korbin and feeling so angry and appalled anyone would suggest such things. It's just not that easy. And yet, here we are with P living our lives with a child and experiencing the joy and frustration of raising this little human. All while some of our loved ones literally cannot experience such feelings, no matter how hard they've tried.
Then there's the guilt I feel toward anyone who knows me who has gotten pregnant and had a child since we lost Korbin. Some of them have stayed away from me, most likely not wanting any of the bad-juju I must be carrying since I lost a child. And they of course don't want to take their chances and experience the loss themselves. And some have even confessed their new-found anxiety in knowing that child loss exists because of Korbin. A friend has even told us of not wanting children because of now knowing the chances of losing a child, even though it really is a small chance in this day and age. Great, we have affected others negatively when it comes to starting or continuing parenting journeys. This is so opposite the guilt I feel with my fellow loss parents. I mean, this final group, for the most part, knows the joys of having children, and have easily had children. And yet, they are letting others' experiences stop them from continuing to experience this joy. Versus those within my loss group, or those experiencing infertility, who still don't know the joys of having children with them but allow that drive to build their family to push them in to uncharted territories. I feel guilty that my experiences can affect others so deeply.
Through these different avenues of guilt, I do my best to continue to navigate the many relationships around us that are affected in ways we couldn't have ever imagined after the initial shock of losing Korbin. It's hard to just move forward in a carefree way and just so outwardly enjoy and share parenting. Not only because of our own personal loss, losing Korbin, but now too because of how our loss affects those around us. So, I just do my best to not complain about parenting struggles in front of them. Try to keep any parenting talk light-hearted and funny. But then does that only further their pain of loss? Are we driving their feelings of longing to reach new heights? Sometimes, Ryan jokes to others without kids, "do you really want kids?" Especially when P is really acting up, being his crazy three year old self. That one even makes me cringe a little bit. Of course they want this. The typical teasing becomes difficult. I guess there will always be some we need to walk on egg shells with, and I mean that with respect and love, empathy. Especially as it is probably how others around us feel about their relationship with us. We have to do our best to be conscious of the struggles and fears in others. We hope for this from others who know of Korbin's absence in our lives.
So, if you are reading this and know that you're part of any of the groups above, also know that you are in my thoughts and prayers constantly. We just want the same happiness for you. And we don't meant to bring up feelings of longing or jealousy.
Because we got a lotta love to give.
The first route of this guilt that I felt, and still feel most often, surrounds my relationships with my fellow loss community parents. We've all experienced the harrowing loss of a child. We've come together to support each other with this mutual understanding of pain, fear, and even jealousy toward the outside world of naive parents who haven't experienced a loss (and hopefully they never do, too). We cheer each other on when we are able to move forward and continue trying to build our families. And yet, not all of us have been able to move forward in this way. For many of us, it becomes a desperate struggle. We couldn't bring the lost child in to the world safely, so we must do things differently and get pregnant quickly and easily and have a healthy child. For me, the drive to do this was insane. I can't speak for the rest within my close group of the intensity of this drive, but for me, it was even stronger than my initial internal drive to have children before losing Korbin. But I have some very dear friends within my group that are still struggling, and it breaks my heart. They want a child with them just like any of us, but they haven't experienced the success of bringing one in to this world just yet. And it makes me feel so guilty that I get to have P. We're all friends on social media, where I want to share P's successes daily, but I also find myself holding back knowing there are others out there who want to be sharing the same things, but are not able to (hopefully just yet). I totally understand the feeling of jealousy toward those that have children, especially when we were without after leaving the hospital from Korbin's birth. Because I can understand from what I was feeling in that time before P, I can only try to imagine how it has intensified over time as so many around them have finally had children without them, and are continuing to do so. Each success must be a blow to their fragile hearts. They are just the sweetest, kindest, people. But I totally get it when they don't show up to the rainbow baby filled events the rest of us have these days. And man, that guilt though.
The next guilt I experienced, was from finding out some dear friends were stopping their fertility journey despite not having children from it. This one cuts hard and deep as I work in the fertility world and I want joy for every patient I work with. Granted, I'm in the lab, which is a bit removed clinically from the patient care. But every specimen, every case, we hope brings joy to the patients involved. And it is so disheartening when it doesn't. As I was telling some who just revealed the end to their fertility journey recently, we specialists hope for success for every patient who comes through our clinic, and it is so hard for us to accept that there wasn't anything we could do to help some. We want to think we have all the answers, can solve all the problems. But nothing, sadly, is one hundred percent. I feel especially touched by these losses having suffered a loss myself, which deepens my empathy toward the families dealing with this. And yet, I also recognize that it is not the same. We can get pregnant with ease, we've cleared that hurdle without issues. These people have not even been allowed that joy. While it hurts to know others experience loss as well (something I wouldn't even wish upon my worst enemy), their loss seems, to me, even deeper. And I don't know how to connect with that. I want to support their pain, but I tread lightly not knowing the right things to say. God forbid I ask about adoption or fostering, donor eggs or embryos. It's the natural next questions to ask, and yet I can remember being asked those questions after Korbin and feeling so angry and appalled anyone would suggest such things. It's just not that easy. And yet, here we are with P living our lives with a child and experiencing the joy and frustration of raising this little human. All while some of our loved ones literally cannot experience such feelings, no matter how hard they've tried.
Then there's the guilt I feel toward anyone who knows me who has gotten pregnant and had a child since we lost Korbin. Some of them have stayed away from me, most likely not wanting any of the bad-juju I must be carrying since I lost a child. And they of course don't want to take their chances and experience the loss themselves. And some have even confessed their new-found anxiety in knowing that child loss exists because of Korbin. A friend has even told us of not wanting children because of now knowing the chances of losing a child, even though it really is a small chance in this day and age. Great, we have affected others negatively when it comes to starting or continuing parenting journeys. This is so opposite the guilt I feel with my fellow loss parents. I mean, this final group, for the most part, knows the joys of having children, and have easily had children. And yet, they are letting others' experiences stop them from continuing to experience this joy. Versus those within my loss group, or those experiencing infertility, who still don't know the joys of having children with them but allow that drive to build their family to push them in to uncharted territories. I feel guilty that my experiences can affect others so deeply.
Through these different avenues of guilt, I do my best to continue to navigate the many relationships around us that are affected in ways we couldn't have ever imagined after the initial shock of losing Korbin. It's hard to just move forward in a carefree way and just so outwardly enjoy and share parenting. Not only because of our own personal loss, losing Korbin, but now too because of how our loss affects those around us. So, I just do my best to not complain about parenting struggles in front of them. Try to keep any parenting talk light-hearted and funny. But then does that only further their pain of loss? Are we driving their feelings of longing to reach new heights? Sometimes, Ryan jokes to others without kids, "do you really want kids?" Especially when P is really acting up, being his crazy three year old self. That one even makes me cringe a little bit. Of course they want this. The typical teasing becomes difficult. I guess there will always be some we need to walk on egg shells with, and I mean that with respect and love, empathy. Especially as it is probably how others around us feel about their relationship with us. We have to do our best to be conscious of the struggles and fears in others. We hope for this from others who know of Korbin's absence in our lives.
So, if you are reading this and know that you're part of any of the groups above, also know that you are in my thoughts and prayers constantly. We just want the same happiness for you. And we don't meant to bring up feelings of longing or jealousy.
Because we got a lotta love to give.
Friday, January 12, 2018
Potty Training
Watching your children grow up is such a mixed bag of emotions. I'm sure I've talked about this in numerous blog posts already, but it's exciting and fun, yet tinged with a sadness knowing that your tiny child is getting bigger and you'll never do something again, like nursing, or someday babywearing. It's bittersweet, but I'm grateful for the time that has passed and the memories it has given us.
Being a cloth diapering (CD) mama, the prospect of more and more time soaking, washing, rinsing, and hang drying and even sorting and counting my stash of cloth diapers felt like a mountain that just kept getting bigger as P has gotten older. We're at the point where Ry and I can start doing some independent things, so there's less time for some of the little things. And in prioritizing what should stay and what should go, cloth diapers, as adorable as they are, didn't make the cut. P is old enough now, too, that he understands what it means to go to the potty, which made this jump so much easier. Way easier than I expected! And the freedom from the chore of cloth diapering is amazing. I was so ready to NOT be changing diapers any more! We definitely put our time in.
Last night I pulled out all of the cloth diapers and accessories and detergents for listing in a local CD group. Thinking back, I remember feeling like we had such a small stash compared to others who go crazy for new or exclusive prints. But the pile we amassed really is quite impressive. (As soon as there's an app update for Blogger, I'll add pictures to this post!) We may even keep a couple as mementos. The newborn ones fit in to the palm of my hand! For almost four years we were almost exclusively cloth diapering. This saved so much money for us, as well as thousands of diapers going in to landfills. Over 7,000 diapers! I just did the math, and still wasn't expecting that high of a number. I definitely feel some pride that we accomplished this. It takes some extra effort and determination to be a CD family, and we did it! Although when I say "we", I really mean "I" as Ry was so not in to the CD business. We did have "disposable Sundays" in this house as that was P's day with Ry while I was at work (and this was factored in to the math above). We still saved so much!
Back to potty training. Despite how ready I was to be done with CD, I was so not ready for my baby to grow up again! And really, he wasn't even a baby in diapers any more, he'd become a toddler, and then a preschooler. It goes by so fast, and the memories tug at the heart strings for sure. P is almost four years old, and some people potty train their kiddos a lot sooner than we did. But part of it was the anxiety in wondering how the transition would change our lives until he gets it. We go places, we have packed schedules, and have a hard time just going with the flow. The thought of dealing with multiple accidents, or even just needing to stay home instead of doing a day trip that involves three hours of driving one way kept me from just jumping in and doing it. We're control freaks, and this just felt so largely out of our control. Until a friend gently told me, "He's ready, he'll know what to do, just read a little bit of Potty Training Bootcamp and you DON'T have to stick to it completely. Make it work for you." Not that we hadn't heard it before, but maybe the timing of those words was just right with my desire to now be free of CD laundry, and diapers in general. Thankfully daycare was on board as well (it's incredible knowing she was willing to take on CD while caring for P and I am so grateful for her!) and willing to take on the training with us. Though I'm sure she was more so looking forward to not changing his diapers any more either, ha!
It's amazing the stages we've been through and where we are now in watching P grow with us. I'll never forget how tiny he felt as such a little baby in my arms, and how adorable the fluffy butt from his cloth diapers looked. I miss the baby years. And though it's difficult to say goodbye to the stages we leave behind, I look forward to those ahead and helping P continue to grow up. It means he's still here with us and we get to continue parenting him, which means the world to us.
Because we got a lotta love to give.
Being a cloth diapering (CD) mama, the prospect of more and more time soaking, washing, rinsing, and hang drying and even sorting and counting my stash of cloth diapers felt like a mountain that just kept getting bigger as P has gotten older. We're at the point where Ry and I can start doing some independent things, so there's less time for some of the little things. And in prioritizing what should stay and what should go, cloth diapers, as adorable as they are, didn't make the cut. P is old enough now, too, that he understands what it means to go to the potty, which made this jump so much easier. Way easier than I expected! And the freedom from the chore of cloth diapering is amazing. I was so ready to NOT be changing diapers any more! We definitely put our time in.
Last night I pulled out all of the cloth diapers and accessories and detergents for listing in a local CD group. Thinking back, I remember feeling like we had such a small stash compared to others who go crazy for new or exclusive prints. But the pile we amassed really is quite impressive. (As soon as there's an app update for Blogger, I'll add pictures to this post!) We may even keep a couple as mementos. The newborn ones fit in to the palm of my hand! For almost four years we were almost exclusively cloth diapering. This saved so much money for us, as well as thousands of diapers going in to landfills. Over 7,000 diapers! I just did the math, and still wasn't expecting that high of a number. I definitely feel some pride that we accomplished this. It takes some extra effort and determination to be a CD family, and we did it! Although when I say "we", I really mean "I" as Ry was so not in to the CD business. We did have "disposable Sundays" in this house as that was P's day with Ry while I was at work (and this was factored in to the math above). We still saved so much!
Back to potty training. Despite how ready I was to be done with CD, I was so not ready for my baby to grow up again! And really, he wasn't even a baby in diapers any more, he'd become a toddler, and then a preschooler. It goes by so fast, and the memories tug at the heart strings for sure. P is almost four years old, and some people potty train their kiddos a lot sooner than we did. But part of it was the anxiety in wondering how the transition would change our lives until he gets it. We go places, we have packed schedules, and have a hard time just going with the flow. The thought of dealing with multiple accidents, or even just needing to stay home instead of doing a day trip that involves three hours of driving one way kept me from just jumping in and doing it. We're control freaks, and this just felt so largely out of our control. Until a friend gently told me, "He's ready, he'll know what to do, just read a little bit of Potty Training Bootcamp and you DON'T have to stick to it completely. Make it work for you." Not that we hadn't heard it before, but maybe the timing of those words was just right with my desire to now be free of CD laundry, and diapers in general. Thankfully daycare was on board as well (it's incredible knowing she was willing to take on CD while caring for P and I am so grateful for her!) and willing to take on the training with us. Though I'm sure she was more so looking forward to not changing his diapers any more either, ha!
It's amazing the stages we've been through and where we are now in watching P grow with us. I'll never forget how tiny he felt as such a little baby in my arms, and how adorable the fluffy butt from his cloth diapers looked. I miss the baby years. And though it's difficult to say goodbye to the stages we leave behind, I look forward to those ahead and helping P continue to grow up. It means he's still here with us and we get to continue parenting him, which means the world to us.
Because we got a lotta love to give.
Friday, January 5, 2018
This is why people get divorced
No, we're not getting divorced. This is just something that was said to us repeatedly while I was in recovery from my c-section with Korbin. Probably every 30 minutes. And honestly, I do think it helped keep us together. Hearing that made us cling to each other that much more instead of drift apart on separate grieving paths. We still have been grieving differently over the years, as is expected, but we've learned to go to each other in our grief.
It's amazing how much that phrase meant to us, as odd as it sounds. And yet, what if they had added: You can keep your baby with you as long as you need.
I recently listened to a podcast about death and what a family's options are when dealing with a loved one's body. What hit me like a slap in the face was the fact that you can take your deceased loved one home from the hospital. Like seriously, what. The. Fuck. My gut reaction is that we were totally screwed by the hospital. That's the anger in loss talking. But also, seriously, what an incredible way to have some serious closure when losing someone. This podcast discussed all the implications from how the family experiences the first signs of decompososition, like the smell, to really feeling like you had the final moments with the person that were so needed. Even if you didn't realize you needed that extra time. I feel like that would have added some much needed sanity to this incredibly insane moment in our lives.
I'm still a bit floored by learning this. I mean, not a single person, nurse, MA, doctor, psychologist, told us this was possible. Not even that we could have kept Korbin with us the entire time I was in the hospital. Instead we were rushed to give over his body while I was still too loopy to stand up for myself and my mental and emotional needs. This is possibly due to a lack of education, as well as a lack of cuddle cots. A cuddle cot is specifically designed to hold a deceased baby and keep the body cool enough to delay the first signs of decomposition, like the smell mentioned above, so that the family has time to process this devastating moment.
I can't even tell you the magnitude of the regret I still struggle to make peace with from our lack of time with Korbin's body. Therapy has helped me to process the regret a bit, but it is still there lurking beneath the surface of my grief.
As I continue to learn more about death and the laws surrounding what is supposed to happen to the bodies, I'm finding I am being drawn to educate others in our area. Not necessarily just the people I know, but hospitals, birthing centers, midwives, even funeral homes. In some states where this education is already present, funeral homes and hospitals are already equipped with cuddle cots to offer to families for rent. There's also the A Day With Chase foundation, which sparked my interest in learning more about cuddle cots. This foundation seeks to educate and provide cuddle cots to facilities so that they are available for use in such times of need. And yet, there are so many facilities that still don't even consider infant death that devastating to a family. There is still so much to learn, and so many to educate.
I'm making this one of my goals for 2018. To research all the ins and outs of a family's rights when it comes to losing a baby and how to best educate the facilities that care for these families. And also to develop a way to provide these facilities with the necessary tools to go along with this education, namely the cuddle cots.
Maybe it's for selfish reasons, to help me deal with my regrets and grief. But I sincerely want others to have a better chance at dealing with the devastating blow of the death of their baby, and to not have the regrets that I have to deal with daily. Proper education and support can alleviate that. And we just need to support each other.
Because we got a lotta love to give.
It's amazing how much that phrase meant to us, as odd as it sounds. And yet, what if they had added: You can keep your baby with you as long as you need.
I recently listened to a podcast about death and what a family's options are when dealing with a loved one's body. What hit me like a slap in the face was the fact that you can take your deceased loved one home from the hospital. Like seriously, what. The. Fuck. My gut reaction is that we were totally screwed by the hospital. That's the anger in loss talking. But also, seriously, what an incredible way to have some serious closure when losing someone. This podcast discussed all the implications from how the family experiences the first signs of decompososition, like the smell, to really feeling like you had the final moments with the person that were so needed. Even if you didn't realize you needed that extra time. I feel like that would have added some much needed sanity to this incredibly insane moment in our lives.
I'm still a bit floored by learning this. I mean, not a single person, nurse, MA, doctor, psychologist, told us this was possible. Not even that we could have kept Korbin with us the entire time I was in the hospital. Instead we were rushed to give over his body while I was still too loopy to stand up for myself and my mental and emotional needs. This is possibly due to a lack of education, as well as a lack of cuddle cots. A cuddle cot is specifically designed to hold a deceased baby and keep the body cool enough to delay the first signs of decomposition, like the smell mentioned above, so that the family has time to process this devastating moment.
I can't even tell you the magnitude of the regret I still struggle to make peace with from our lack of time with Korbin's body. Therapy has helped me to process the regret a bit, but it is still there lurking beneath the surface of my grief.
As I continue to learn more about death and the laws surrounding what is supposed to happen to the bodies, I'm finding I am being drawn to educate others in our area. Not necessarily just the people I know, but hospitals, birthing centers, midwives, even funeral homes. In some states where this education is already present, funeral homes and hospitals are already equipped with cuddle cots to offer to families for rent. There's also the A Day With Chase foundation, which sparked my interest in learning more about cuddle cots. This foundation seeks to educate and provide cuddle cots to facilities so that they are available for use in such times of need. And yet, there are so many facilities that still don't even consider infant death that devastating to a family. There is still so much to learn, and so many to educate.
I'm making this one of my goals for 2018. To research all the ins and outs of a family's rights when it comes to losing a baby and how to best educate the facilities that care for these families. And also to develop a way to provide these facilities with the necessary tools to go along with this education, namely the cuddle cots.
Maybe it's for selfish reasons, to help me deal with my regrets and grief. But I sincerely want others to have a better chance at dealing with the devastating blow of the death of their baby, and to not have the regrets that I have to deal with daily. Proper education and support can alleviate that. And we just need to support each other.
Because we got a lotta love to give.
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