All I Want For Christmas Is You

You either love it or hate it, but as a product of the 90s and as someone who
thinks Mariah Carey has once-in-a-generation level talent, I fall into the “love it”
category:  I love the song “All I Want For Christmas Is You.”

Before I met Zach, I spent most Christmases single as a dollar bill. So it was
sort of a general wish out into the universe rather than about a particular person:
All I want for Christmas is you...whoever you are.

Zach and began dating in late 2009, but it was a long-distance relationship for the

first year and a half.  I flew into Chicago to visit him on December 26, 2010,

and then I also remember telling him, “all I want for Christmas is you!”  (And

indeed, it was only a few months later that he got a job in Portland.)

Of course we went on to get married and start a family, and life has been very

good to us.  We had our first baby, our Zoey, a few years in. We had picked the

name Zoey for a girl before we got engaged, but didn’t have a second girl’s

name; it’s something we talked about shortly after Zoey was born, and discovered

that we both liked the sound of the name Hannah.  And in fall 2017, we discovered

that we were once again expecting a child, but this time it ended the way so many

pregnancies do, even though it is rarely talked about. We lost that pregnancy on

December 9th.

As Catholics, we often look to the Saints for examples of how to both live joyfully

and how to handle difficult situations.  When I looked up patron saints of infertility

and pregnancy loss, I was shocked to find that St. Hannah is one that is looked

to for guidance in that area, and her feast day is December 9th.

We made it through Christmas and New Years that year, though none of it felt very

joyful.  In May 2018 though, we found out that we were once again expecting a child.
The early days of that pregnancy were navigated with some fear, but come Christmas 2018, my belly and heart were full, full with our Hannah. Once again, that familiar tune
was all over the airwaves, taking on a new meaning:

I just want you for my own

More than you could ever know

Make my wish come true

Baby all I want for Christmas is you

This season, as the song plays on the radio, and I sing along (off key and loudly!), sweet Hannah baby babbles along from the back seat.

You Can't Keep A Cookie

I thought decorating Christmas cookies together could make for some sweet memories,

and I was right.  It was an opportunity for me to let go and let her be a little messy, and

for her to try something new, to experiment with how hard to squeeze, how much

sprinkle to sprinkle, and how all the colors interacted.  But more than that, it was a

chance to do something fun and seasonal in the comfort of our own cozy home; a

chance to show her a little love.

She squeezed red and white frosting onto her first sugar cookie and sprinkled

excessive sprinkles. Initially she wanted my help with the frosting, but boy did her face

light up when she realized she could do it herself!  I swear the red and white streaks with

spots of color seemed like the most beautiful artwork I’d ever seen, and of course I took

a picture.

You know what happens after you decorate Christmas cookies though right?  You eat them!

But something surprised me: my initial resistance to let her eat the cookie.  No, I wasn’t

overly concerned with sugar, and dinner had passed so it wasn’t about ruining her appetite. 

It’s because that was the FIRST cookie she’d ever made and a part of me wanted to KEEP it.

To preserve it just as is, so we could remember this little moment forever every time we

looked at it.

It was completely irrational. You can’t save a cookie!  Cookies are made for eating!

The layers of that started to hit me pretty heavily.  You can’t stop time and you can’t take it with you. Nothing stays the same.  I often look at this little girl and marvel that seemingly so recently, I cradled her in my arms and she was completely dependent on me for EVERYTHING.  Now she wanders around our house, puts on her clothes by herself, and has her very own independent thoughts. However small, she is definitely her very own person.

I almost wish someone had told me that it goes so fast! ;)

I feel so attached to this precocious little toddler, her funny ways of saying things, her unabashed affection, her playful imagination.  But it won’t stay this way forever either, nor will it stay this way all that much longer. My little girls are going to get big, and as much as I’d like to beg them not to, the only way that happens is an outcome I hope never to have to face.  If you keep a cookie because you cannot bear to consume it, it will eventually spoil, and if I cling too hard to my daughters’ littleness, I might miss out on the joy of it all, of all the different stages.

Fittingly, earlier in the day yesterday Zach had asked her “Will you stay my little girl forever?” as a sweet little moment of musing and connection.  Her response was just about perfect, but bittersweet: “I’ll be your little girl for a little bit, but then I gotta grow up.”

The healing power of...a Facebook post?

About 7 months ago I wrote a blog about my pregnancy loss, and shared it on Facebook.  I felt (and mostly still feel) intensely private about the whole thing, but I feel miscarriage is too much of an unspoken thing and I wanted to not contribute to other women feeling silenced about theirs.

But there was another really important reason for sharing my experience, and it was very humbling.

I didn't want to believe that I was someone who needed attention and validation, but I am, and after some reflection, I also wanted to share that part of myself.

And that's because I think we all need love, and we all need love the most when we are hurting.

I posted that blog, and comments started pouring in from people, friends and acquaintances.  They rolled in fast for most of a day.  I went to a show with Zach that night, and I remember feeling like I could breathe in a way I hadn't in 2 months.

After that day, the body aches stopped.  The crying in my car and the shower stopped.  The missing of my lost little one won't stop ever.  Even another pregnancy can't heal that.

But I'm not exaggerating when I say that my choice to open up, and the ensuing soothing and comforting sentiments from friends (both via facebook as well as those who reached out more privately) helped restore my basic ability to function.

Thank you, friends, for loving me.  It literally made all the difference for me.

The aftermath of a miscarriage

On December 6th, 2017, I took a day off of work.  We decided to go see some sights, and take Zoey to a mall up in Kelso, WA to sit on Santa's lap for a picture.  She was in a great mood, and happily sat on the Big Guy's lap.  We went to a local coffee shop and did some shopping.  We got Zoey a book about being a big sister--we were so excited, it was only 2 and a half weeks until we could feel safe in telling people about the new surprise.

On December 7th, I had a little spotting.  I felt a little scared but I knew of several women who'd spotted throughout their first trimester, no problems.  I called my OB's office, but the dating ultrasound was already planned for the next day and they weren't going to get me in any sooner anyhow.  Plus, I wasn't cramping so they weren't too worried.

On December 8th, we went in for the ultrasound.  I could tell pretty quickly that the technician wasn't seeing what she needed to.  She shared that there was a gestational sac, and she was maybe seeing something that looked like a crown to rump measuring about 6 weeks, but maybe we were just not as far along as we thought, but I knew that was wrong.  That day I guessed we should have been about 10 weeks along.

Our little one passed from me on December 9th, and my heart hasn't quite been the same since.

Right after, when I told people, I told them I was "ok."  That wasn't a lie, but I guess I also really need a more in-depth definition of ok.  I'm not quitting anything--my job, my family, my life.  So it's more like "I'm ok, but..."

I'm ok, but I'm also good in a crisis.  This was easier for the first 2 weeks after it happened, and then it got harder.

I'm ok, but I haven't been able to concentrate as well at work, or get as much stuff done.  I feel like I've let a lot of people down.

I'm ok, but my battery drains so much quicker.  Some days, the grief is physical and it hurts to move by the time I get home (not in a metaphorical sense--my muscles are screaming at me).

I'm ok, but I actually really hate feeling sad and not being upbeat.  So I try to ignore it, and I can for a few days, but then it spills out sideways and any time I get truly alone I start crying involuntarily.

I'm ok, but I keep trying this ineffective tactic of telling myself about all the people who have it so much worse.  I keep telling myself at least I have a healthy little girl to distract me, and while that's true, if that's your only trick, you wind up inadvertently telling yourself that your pain isn't real, so it doubles down on itself to show you just how real it is.  Because at the end of the day, even if one friend had 3 miscarriages and I've only had one, or another friend's first pregnancy was a miscarriage and she didn't have a baby to snuggle with to comfort herself, or another friend is still waiting for any positive pregnancy test, that doesn't mean that my pain isn't also real.  But in reality, I'm still working on that one.

I started seeing my own therapist, and she is great.  She's warm, and empathetic, and I think most importantly, it's 45 minutes that can be all about me, and I literally pay her to sit and nicely listen to my emotions--so I don't have to feel bad about being a burden on someone else because it's literally her job.  Should I be taking this to my husband or my mom and dad or my close friends because they're awesome and want to support me?  I don't know, maybe?  I can't tell you why it's hard to do that but it is.  I am, actually, ok, and I don't want to make anyone worried about me.  Also, it's uncomfortable for me to cry in front of people.  Like, any people.

The real truth is, for 4 weeks, I had a live human inside me and I love him so dearly and desperately.  (Before I even got a positive pregnancy test, I was sure he was a him.  Zach feels less sure and that's ok with me.  I don't have any evidence that he was ACTUALLY a he, and if I get to heaven and he's actually a she, that's ok with me.)  I don't regret a second with him, I just wish we had more time.  I will love him for the rest of my life and always wish he could be with me.  I've been offered the image, in a way that's meant to be comforting, that now he is praying for me.  I don't know, that just makes me angry.  Not at anyone who is attempting to be loving and comforting.  Maybe angry at God?  I'm not sure.  That's my baby and he's not supposed to take care of me--I'm supposed to take care of him and was robbed of the opportunity.

Anyway, if I don't want to cry with you, why am I sharing this?  (I do truly appreciate all the love I've been shown surrounding this, but it really is hard for me to be emotional with people in person.)  For two reasons.  One, because my little baby is very real to me even though I never got to hold him or show him off, and I feel he deserves to be known about.  Second is that so many women go through miscarriages and it's just not spoken about very often.  It's not something to be ashamed about.  In my not-online life, I haven't really shied away from saying what happened, so it's not a secret, but most of the time I do have a pretty good game face, and I don't want women who are struggling with this same thing to think that they have to be brave and strong.  Because even though I'm feeling better now that I started talking to a therapist, because even though I'm ok, I'm not all the way ok.  I'm not functioning like I was pre-miscarriage, and you don't have to either.

And if you've been though this and want to talk, I am all ears.  It's hard, and I know what it's like now to feel messy inside.  So if you need someone to feel messy inside with, I'm your gal.

I love Pink's music and I found this song, and it's everything I'm feeling: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PFYm9LKsuUo

Sisters

My Grammy likes to tell the story of when my second brother was born. My middle brother and I were staying with her, and my dad called to announce my mom had a little boy. Grammy told me this, and according to legend, I pouted, proclaiming that I had really wanted a sister. Trying to cheer me up, she told me "But now you're special because you're the only girl!" to which I retorted "I would have been special anyway!"

Anyone who knows me knows I have fantastic relationships with my brothers, and that I also have female cousins who are very much like sisters to me. But still, I never had anyone I could actually refer to as "my sister."

Then when I was almost 30, my middle brother decided that friendship with a special girl wasn't enough. They began dating and married within a year, and I suddenly had someone I could call "sister." In talking about her, the words "my sister" rolled off my tongue so easy that I typically drop "-in-law". But the title is nothing compared to actually having this woman in my life. She is full of kindness and has a wicked sense of humor. She sees my brother for everything he is and loves him senselessly (but still laughs about his quirks with me). She gave me my beautiful niece Ruth, and supported me so much in those first weeks with my daughter.

This past summer, that youngest brother I'd wished was a sister proposed to a girl he'd been dating only a few months. We were all a little surprised, but very happy. She sees him for him, but has this loving respect for him that was missing in past relationships. She loves his giving nature without taking advantage of it.  She has eagerly plunged into getting to know the family. As a bonus, she and my husband have already formed a mock-sibling-rivalry friendship.  Our sibling group was never going to be totally complete until the youngest found his match, and now she is here.

Both of these special women grew up with only sisters, so having my husband and whichever brother they aren't marrying is more novel for them, but to me, they are each a special gift I have waited my whole life for!

Would someone please tell me

How I am supposed to explain to my child someday that when she was 2 months old, we elected a president who sees her as an object because of her gender, and believes her to be sub human because of part of her racial heritage?

This isn't ok.

"What's your secret?"

Last summer, we had been hoping to start a family and had been unsuccessful thus far.  There were some things with me that weren't going quite regularly and I began to believe that was part of the problem, so I saw the appropriate kind of doctor, and sure enough she diagnosed me with (thankfully fairly mild) PCOS.  One of the other symptoms of PCOS is extreme difficulty losing weight, which was pretty validating considering all the work I'd put in to shed the 20 pounds of graduate school weight to no avail.

Doc put me on some medication (metformin, used kind of off-label) to help make things regular again.  I'm one of those people that seem to always end up with the side effects that there's only a 15% chance of, but thankfully, the only side effect for me was welcome: most of the graduate school weight came off within a couple months!  There was more than zero effort on my part otherwise, but I didn't starve or go crazy with exercise.

Over time, I have developed different attitudes and values for my life, and within the last several years, I have made a decision to put less emphasis on appearance and specifically body size.  I think my inability to shed the extra weight helped me here.  I put emphasis on living a healthy and balanced life and realized that much about my appearance was not in my control, so I turned my attention elsewhere.

It shouldn't have been surprising when coworkers and friends noticed I was wearing clothes a size or two smaller.  "What have you been doing?" they asked.  "What's your secret?"

Oddly enough, this attention that I once would have reveled in was still a little flattering, but due to my attitude changes, I kind of wanted to de-emphasize the weight loss.  Plus, in truth, I hadn't worked that hard for the changes.  So I often reply "I'm on medication for something else, but it's helped me lose a few pounds too!"  I guess I have a fear that people will think it's something that's really important to me or that I've really focused on.  Don't get me wrong, it's nice to fit into my older clothes and sizes again, but it's kind of like finding a $50 on the sidewalk.  Nice, but not life-changing.

Plus, the real reason for taking the medication has been something different.  So since mid-January, when people have asked me "What's your secret?"  what I've really wanted to say is this:

Little "Benny" or "Bernice" will be joining our family this coming football season!

"The LORD has done great things for us, and we are filled with joy." Psalm 126:3