My heart is heavy this morning. I am not entirely sure why. I love Reagan's Garden, love reaching out to families and trying to find some way to give them a glimpse of hope and peace through their loss. Last night, I sat and made another round of cards to be delivered with the flowers. I feel such heartache at knowing these cards will go to women who are in labor at that very moment with a child who will never survive. It breaks my heart. And my words, my thoughts written in each card, seem so insignificant. Seem so wrong. It's not enough. There are literally no words, nothing to help in that moment. Each card has a verse that carried me through written at the bottom...the Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit -Psalm 34:18. How wonderful it is that this is true, that God is close to us when we need Him most. That he saves us when we are crushed in spirit. THIS is the only thing that provides comfort, peace in our creator. I feel utterly insignificant and incompetent at relaying this truth.
And, though I know this truth, though I wholeheartedly believe Christ is the only reason I have any peace and hope, that because of His sacrifice I know my story with Reagan is not yet over, I still feel overwhelming bitterness. I am still angry with God for my pregnancy history. For infertility, for miscarriage, for stillbirth, for the stress of thinking we would lose Warren and Dean throughout the entire pregnancy, for prolonged bed rest, for a world of micro preemies, for knowing so well what the inside of a NICU looks like. And on and on it goes. For some reason, I feel I deserve better. Haven't I struggled enough? When will it get easier? Does it ever? I don't have answers to that, I don't understand why our journey was so difficult and filled with such pain. I don't understand why those who don't "deserve" it have easy lives, easy pregnancies, easy babies who SLEEP. And I hold that bitterness in my heart, letting it shape my outlook on life. It's not healthy. It doesn't bring Samuel or Reagan back. It doesn't give me wonderful, warm and fuzzy pregnancy memories with the boys. It doesn't reduce their delays or cut back on their therapies. It simply makes me miserable and sad. It makes me feel uncomfortable around people in their 3rd trimester, or people with healthy babies, or people with little girls. I truly do not want anyone to have to go through all we did, and yet, I don't want it to be easy for anyone else. What does that say about me? What does that say about my sinful heart? I am broken. Completely and utterly broken. And though I know and trust that the Lord is in control and that His plan is GOOD, I second guess Him and think I could have done it better. So today, my prayers is that I would let it go. That I would truly rejoice with families who welcome another little one into their families. Whether through trials of infertility or by accident, that I would find joy when my friends announce pregnancies. That I would be able to look at little girls without such a gut-wrenching pain in my chest, a literal take-your-breath away feeling as I continue to grieve for Reagan. I have learned these past 2+ years that I cannot do it on my own. I must let it go, surrender to Christ, and let Him carry me instead. I must rest in His peace, knowing His grace is sufficient for me. So, so difficult for me to do. And even harder to do on a regular basis. But for today, for this moment, I am letting it go. And maybe tomorrow God will give me the strength to do it again.
Monday, February 16, 2015
Sunday, February 15, 2015
Friday the 13th
There is nothing quite like seeing your child fall. In the Savant household, this is a regular occurrence. These boys tumble, bump their heads, get bruises all the time. I cannot stand guard over both of them in two separate rooms at the same time. And I surely cannot contain them. This is something I had to let go of long ago, my inability to protect my children at all times. So, I relish in the tender moments when I get to kiss boo boos and make them all better. And I laugh when Dean learned to "fake fall" simply so he could have a quiet moment with just Mommy and I could kiss his imaginary (and somewhat self induced) boo boo.
But then, on Friday, Dean ripped down the baby gate at the bottom of the stairs. I couldn't figure out how to get it back up there right and Andrew was out of town, so I just took it off. It was one afternoon. As we're getting ready to head up for bed, Warren starts up the stairs. One step. I bend down to grab Dean and look up in time to see Warren falling. He fell 1 step, not the biggest fall we've had by a long shot. And he screamed. I ran over and picked him up just in time to see his eyes roll back and his little body go limp. Terror. Complete and utter terror. And in about 10 seconds, he was back to screaming and was fine. I was not fine. I frantically called the pediatrician who confirmed that little Warren needed to go straight to the ER.
Now, the ER is a whole different kind of terror for moms of micro preemies. I knew Warren needed to be checked out, but I also knew he was in isolation. He's not supposed to come with me to the grocery store, much less the one place sick people go. I shuddered. And Dean! Poor Dean was going to have to come along too since Andrew was away. I would be exposing both my children to all the things we've kept them isolated from over the past 19 months. I cannot even begin to express how thankful I am that Uncle Wade and Aunt Aly were able to save the day, to come up to the hospital and get Dean and take him home so he could sleep and not face exposure.
The Children's ER at the Levine left much to be desired. It was crowded, I'm sure filled with RSV. I waited to check in and explained about Warren's head injury and the urgency with which the nurse insisted I come straight to the ER. I was told to wait. I then explained about Warren's immunity and was told I could wait in a small room off the main waiting area. Thankful, I headed there. The security guard sitting outside kept coughing, sniffing, and making nasty sick sounds. I shut the door as much as I could. Warren screamed. For about an hour, Warren screamed. Then they took us to triage, took his vitals, and told us to return to the waiting room. Sigh. Another hour went by before we were taken back to a room. It was during this hour that Andrew's flight landed and he was able to join me shortly before we were taken back. We were just getting settled in our room when we were told we had to leave, a trauma was coming in and they needed our room. Seriously?? Infant head injury and you're kicking us out. What about all these people here because of a cold? Kick THEM out. We waited in the hallway for a bit, watching the craziness unfold. We were given a bed right there in the hall between 2 rooms. Seriously? Did I mention, immune compromised? Did I mention chronic lung disease? Andrew took Warren back to the little waiting room and I stayed there in the hall waiting for a room to open. Eventually it did. Then, the waiting continued. Warren fell at 7PM. It was 11 before we saw a doctor and anyone even looked at him. Thankfully, he was fine. Because, if he wasn't fine, I shudder to think of how much damage could have been done during this waiting game. I have limited experience with the ER in general, but I'm not so sure I'll be taking my kiddos back there again.
Warren checked out just fine and we headed home. Poor little guy was so exhausted after staying up till midnight that he just crashed. Didn't wake up when we got him home, didn't wake up when I changed him into clean jammies that hadn't been exposed to an onslaught of disease, didn't wake up when I changed my mind and decided he needed to sleep in our room. He didn't wake up until I woke him the following morning to eat his Valentines pink heart-shaped pancakes that I somehow thought would make up for the trauma of the night before. But, he is doing great, completely unphased by the whole ordeal. The baby gate is secured once again, and eventually I'll feel comfortable with him going up and down stairs again. We survived our first trip to the ER. Something tells me it will not be our last...
But then, on Friday, Dean ripped down the baby gate at the bottom of the stairs. I couldn't figure out how to get it back up there right and Andrew was out of town, so I just took it off. It was one afternoon. As we're getting ready to head up for bed, Warren starts up the stairs. One step. I bend down to grab Dean and look up in time to see Warren falling. He fell 1 step, not the biggest fall we've had by a long shot. And he screamed. I ran over and picked him up just in time to see his eyes roll back and his little body go limp. Terror. Complete and utter terror. And in about 10 seconds, he was back to screaming and was fine. I was not fine. I frantically called the pediatrician who confirmed that little Warren needed to go straight to the ER.
Now, the ER is a whole different kind of terror for moms of micro preemies. I knew Warren needed to be checked out, but I also knew he was in isolation. He's not supposed to come with me to the grocery store, much less the one place sick people go. I shuddered. And Dean! Poor Dean was going to have to come along too since Andrew was away. I would be exposing both my children to all the things we've kept them isolated from over the past 19 months. I cannot even begin to express how thankful I am that Uncle Wade and Aunt Aly were able to save the day, to come up to the hospital and get Dean and take him home so he could sleep and not face exposure.
The Children's ER at the Levine left much to be desired. It was crowded, I'm sure filled with RSV. I waited to check in and explained about Warren's head injury and the urgency with which the nurse insisted I come straight to the ER. I was told to wait. I then explained about Warren's immunity and was told I could wait in a small room off the main waiting area. Thankful, I headed there. The security guard sitting outside kept coughing, sniffing, and making nasty sick sounds. I shut the door as much as I could. Warren screamed. For about an hour, Warren screamed. Then they took us to triage, took his vitals, and told us to return to the waiting room. Sigh. Another hour went by before we were taken back to a room. It was during this hour that Andrew's flight landed and he was able to join me shortly before we were taken back. We were just getting settled in our room when we were told we had to leave, a trauma was coming in and they needed our room. Seriously?? Infant head injury and you're kicking us out. What about all these people here because of a cold? Kick THEM out. We waited in the hallway for a bit, watching the craziness unfold. We were given a bed right there in the hall between 2 rooms. Seriously? Did I mention, immune compromised? Did I mention chronic lung disease? Andrew took Warren back to the little waiting room and I stayed there in the hall waiting for a room to open. Eventually it did. Then, the waiting continued. Warren fell at 7PM. It was 11 before we saw a doctor and anyone even looked at him. Thankfully, he was fine. Because, if he wasn't fine, I shudder to think of how much damage could have been done during this waiting game. I have limited experience with the ER in general, but I'm not so sure I'll be taking my kiddos back there again.
Warren checked out just fine and we headed home. Poor little guy was so exhausted after staying up till midnight that he just crashed. Didn't wake up when we got him home, didn't wake up when I changed him into clean jammies that hadn't been exposed to an onslaught of disease, didn't wake up when I changed my mind and decided he needed to sleep in our room. He didn't wake up until I woke him the following morning to eat his Valentines pink heart-shaped pancakes that I somehow thought would make up for the trauma of the night before. But, he is doing great, completely unphased by the whole ordeal. The baby gate is secured once again, and eventually I'll feel comfortable with him going up and down stairs again. We survived our first trip to the ER. Something tells me it will not be our last...
Tuesday, January 27, 2015
Pinteresting with W&D
So...morning naps are gone. I tried to keep them around, for my sanity and the boys' midday meltdowns, but to no avail. Sigh. This means...no more quiet morning coffee while eating my breakfast and reading my devotion, no chance for me to sit and blog, no time to plan out the boys meals and snacks. I am reduced to one 1.5 hour time in the day to...shower, prep dinners for adults and children, make "healthy" snacks for the boys, clean the house, fold the laundry, and search for developmentally appropriate activities to help Warren and Dean catch up. Notice how there is no longer a coffee/rest time built into my day. I miss it. But I do love watching these little guys play, and it will be so nice once we are free to leave the house to not have such a small window for activities or park dates.
So, my goal for this year was to be more intentional with some of their play time. To provide them an "activity of the day" which focuses on helping them to catch up developmentally. It was a lofty goal, and one I am failing miserably at. BUT, we have done a handful of fun indoor activities, thanks to Pinterest. I love how every toddler activity comes complete with photos of said toddler grinning, slightly messy but not overly so, and just loving everything. Where are these happy children?? This is what I got:
There it is! Our January in review. I'm so excited for them to continue to grow and develop, to quit putting it all in their mouths, and to learn so much more in the coming months!
So, my goal for this year was to be more intentional with some of their play time. To provide them an "activity of the day" which focuses on helping them to catch up developmentally. It was a lofty goal, and one I am failing miserably at. BUT, we have done a handful of fun indoor activities, thanks to Pinterest. I love how every toddler activity comes complete with photos of said toddler grinning, slightly messy but not overly so, and just loving everything. Where are these happy children?? This is what I got:
You would think I was torturing them, making them do all sorts of awful things. They did eventually warm up to the idea of sticking their hands in slime, dough, beans, finger paint, and pom poms.
Here's some of our fun but non pinterest worthy pics
Warren would maybe poke his slime. Not really a fan.
Dean, not surprisingly, enjoyed his.
"I will not touch that slime thing in my chair. I will play with it for 20 minutes in the floor"
Next came cloud dough. We love cloud dough. It creates the biggest mess you've ever seen in my kitchen but keeps them happy. Well worth the clean up.
Warren, much happier sitting with cloud dough than slime.
Beans. There are an assortment of ice cube trays and containers with small holes on top to work on improving our fine motor skills. The activity that won? Sweeping. Let's push the beans around with a broom. If this carries over into real life and real cleaning, this is one happy mama!
Finger paints. This was the second go around, much better than the first. Homemade, toddler safe, edible paint recipe here.
No need for paper here!
Sensory bin. They loved pouring and scooping, a dream come true for these future chefs!
Tuesday, January 6, 2015
Tipping point
When I think back over these past 18+ months, and particularly the 15 months at home, I hardly remember the monitors. Yes, I remember re positioning the lead wires, the little pads around their tiny chests, strapping it all together. I remember trying to hide the wires during their monthly photo shoots. I remember the struggle of determining if that alarm was really significant or if Warren had just shifted enough so the pad moved away from his body for a moment...did he actually quit breathing? He looks okay, maybe I'll just go back to bed.... "BEEP BEEP BEEP" crap. Maybe I was wrong, as I go running back to his room again. Nope, he still looks fine, sleeping peacefully. Maybe I'll just rest here in this chair. And on and on it went. Apparently I remember more than I thought I did because, as I sat down to write this, I thought I would have a brief sentence to write. But it's not in the forefront of my mind, just seems like a distant memory.
Regardless, it requires much thought about the monitors before I remember them. I definitely remember those colic nights, but not so much the hassle of Warren and Dean hooked up to their bulky heart monitors for, wait for it, 9 months and 6 days. Eek. That is a really long time, way longer than it seems. Our break even point is now approaching: Friday. Yep, Friday will be the day that Warren has been wire free exactly as long as he had his wires. It's hard to imagine my little man, running downstairs, pushing his train or his shopping cart or anything that moves, laughing and giggling, as every being confined to such a small area by his lead wires. God is truly amazing as I think over all these boys have been through and overcome. It's hard to see little Warren's chest struggling to rise and fall in the NICU, fighting as his oxygen requirements continued to increase, watching the fear in his eyes as he fought to breath a few of those times. A nightmare, really, to know your child is not getting what they need and to be so very helpless. And yet I am in awe as these pictures scroll across our screen (Apple TV is really a lot of fun), these tiny little boys God has guarded and protected from the very beginning. Sometimes I let myself get taken back there, to those early days, to the uncertainty. Dean seems exactly the same to me - confident, moving full speed ahead, never afraid to try. Warren, more timid and unsure, requiring a bit more time to get there before deciding to take a chance. I love these boys so much and am so blessed to be their mother, to get to stay home with them, to get to teach them new and exciting things as they explore their world.
And so we are rapidly approaching what I believe will be the last of these "break even" points, times in their lives where something difficult, challenging, or simply a nuisance, becomes equal to the time without it. Maybe isolation will be another one, but that's over 2 years before we get to a point where they will have been out of isolation as long as they were in. Anyway, one more little moment to celebrate as we approach Friday and 9 months + 6 days of NO wires or monitors for these little guys!
Regardless, it requires much thought about the monitors before I remember them. I definitely remember those colic nights, but not so much the hassle of Warren and Dean hooked up to their bulky heart monitors for, wait for it, 9 months and 6 days. Eek. That is a really long time, way longer than it seems. Our break even point is now approaching: Friday. Yep, Friday will be the day that Warren has been wire free exactly as long as he had his wires. It's hard to imagine my little man, running downstairs, pushing his train or his shopping cart or anything that moves, laughing and giggling, as every being confined to such a small area by his lead wires. God is truly amazing as I think over all these boys have been through and overcome. It's hard to see little Warren's chest struggling to rise and fall in the NICU, fighting as his oxygen requirements continued to increase, watching the fear in his eyes as he fought to breath a few of those times. A nightmare, really, to know your child is not getting what they need and to be so very helpless. And yet I am in awe as these pictures scroll across our screen (Apple TV is really a lot of fun), these tiny little boys God has guarded and protected from the very beginning. Sometimes I let myself get taken back there, to those early days, to the uncertainty. Dean seems exactly the same to me - confident, moving full speed ahead, never afraid to try. Warren, more timid and unsure, requiring a bit more time to get there before deciding to take a chance. I love these boys so much and am so blessed to be their mother, to get to stay home with them, to get to teach them new and exciting things as they explore their world.
And so we are rapidly approaching what I believe will be the last of these "break even" points, times in their lives where something difficult, challenging, or simply a nuisance, becomes equal to the time without it. Maybe isolation will be another one, but that's over 2 years before we get to a point where they will have been out of isolation as long as they were in. Anyway, one more little moment to celebrate as we approach Friday and 9 months + 6 days of NO wires or monitors for these little guys!
Friday, December 12, 2014
Grandpa
Heaven gained a wonderful man last night. My grandfather went to be with the Lord yesterday evening. This is the first grandparent I have lost, first family member who I really knew who has passed away. He has been battle cancer for over 2 years. He has been in pain. And how wonderful to think he will never experience pain again. What a blessing for those who know Christ!
One of his last conversations with my dad, he made a promise. A promise to look out for Reagan, to be there to support her. I love thinking that right now, she has his hand in her tiny one and is leading him through her field of purple flowers. They are chatting about God, heaven, life down here. I imagine Grandpa telling her some of my childhood stories, of how I gave my parents trouble or ran around collecting bugs, never wanted to come inside, and certainly didn't want to follow the rules. I can picture Reagan showing Grandpa all she has learned, pointing out the wonders of heaven, dancing for Jesus side by side with him. It is a tremendous blessing for me to know that my daughter has another great-grandparent in heaven, one on our side, who can tell her more about us. I love that Grandpa found some peace and purpose in caring for and loving on Reagan until we get there.
Grandpa will be missed terribly. He was a rock - always encouraging to me. We lived far away for basically my whole life, but he was always easy to talk to when we were together. And him and Grandma would just crack us up at these recent weddings as Andrew and I turned into their chauffeur when both my sisters got married. Who would have thought they were so funny? It's hard to imagine Grandma without him and my heart just breaks for her. I cannot imagine the pain of spending 60 years with someone and then losing them in such a way. It helps to know he is no longer in pain, that he is in a better place, that he is with his own children lost long ago, but it doesn't take away the pain. I am so thankful we were able to be together this summer, that he was able to meet his two great-grandsons for the first time, that he could dance with us girls at one more wedding. I'm glad we were able to have a moment to say our goodbyes, to hug each other, and to know that it was only a temporary goodbye.
We love you Grandpa.
One of his last conversations with my dad, he made a promise. A promise to look out for Reagan, to be there to support her. I love thinking that right now, she has his hand in her tiny one and is leading him through her field of purple flowers. They are chatting about God, heaven, life down here. I imagine Grandpa telling her some of my childhood stories, of how I gave my parents trouble or ran around collecting bugs, never wanted to come inside, and certainly didn't want to follow the rules. I can picture Reagan showing Grandpa all she has learned, pointing out the wonders of heaven, dancing for Jesus side by side with him. It is a tremendous blessing for me to know that my daughter has another great-grandparent in heaven, one on our side, who can tell her more about us. I love that Grandpa found some peace and purpose in caring for and loving on Reagan until we get there.
Grandpa will be missed terribly. He was a rock - always encouraging to me. We lived far away for basically my whole life, but he was always easy to talk to when we were together. And him and Grandma would just crack us up at these recent weddings as Andrew and I turned into their chauffeur when both my sisters got married. Who would have thought they were so funny? It's hard to imagine Grandma without him and my heart just breaks for her. I cannot imagine the pain of spending 60 years with someone and then losing them in such a way. It helps to know he is no longer in pain, that he is in a better place, that he is with his own children lost long ago, but it doesn't take away the pain. I am so thankful we were able to be together this summer, that he was able to meet his two great-grandsons for the first time, that he could dance with us girls at one more wedding. I'm glad we were able to have a moment to say our goodbyes, to hug each other, and to know that it was only a temporary goodbye.
We love you Grandpa.
Tuesday, December 9, 2014
Drink, Warren, Drink!
Sometime between July and August, Warren decided drinking from a bottle was beneath him. My initial thought was, great, he's supposed to have moved on from the bottle long ago. This child has always loved his bottle and would struggle to nurse for days after we'd give him one. But, here's what I didn't see coming...he decided the cup was beneath him as well. Hmm...no bottle, no cup with a straw, no sippy cup, no open cup, no cup shaped like a bear, no cup with a special straw mechanism so you literally pump the milk into his mouth. Nothing. For months now, this child has refused liquids.
I don't get it, I don't know what suddenly changed. In July, no problem. In August, not going to happen. He's fully capable of drinking and coordinating his suck/swallow. He does it every time he nurses. He did it for months and months before August. So now he goes all day without a drop to drink, and by dinner time he's a wreck. He's grumpy. He's thirsty. And yet, he throws his cup and pushes away the straw. Stubborn runs deep in this child. And how do you treat stubborn in a 1-year-old?? I'm not sure anyone knows the answer to that one just yet. But if you do, please let me know! We thought dropping day nursing sessions would get him drinking, we thought a weekend away would surely push him over the edge. Nope, this child will not break. We'll see what happens when we're away for several days for a family wedding they can't attend (darn isolation). I'll be returning to one very proud, very excited Warren. Or the grumpiest child there ever was. So sorry to my parents the babysitters...good luck with that one!
I don't get it, I don't know what suddenly changed. In July, no problem. In August, not going to happen. He's fully capable of drinking and coordinating his suck/swallow. He does it every time he nurses. He did it for months and months before August. So now he goes all day without a drop to drink, and by dinner time he's a wreck. He's grumpy. He's thirsty. And yet, he throws his cup and pushes away the straw. Stubborn runs deep in this child. And how do you treat stubborn in a 1-year-old?? I'm not sure anyone knows the answer to that one just yet. But if you do, please let me know! We thought dropping day nursing sessions would get him drinking, we thought a weekend away would surely push him over the edge. Nope, this child will not break. We'll see what happens when we're away for several days for a family wedding they can't attend (darn isolation). I'll be returning to one very proud, very excited Warren. Or the grumpiest child there ever was. So sorry to my parents the babysitters...good luck with that one!
Monday, December 8, 2014
Au Naturel
Somehow along the way, I've accumulated a whole bunch of friends who do the natural parenting/prolonged breast feeding/cloth diaper/home birth thing. It's found it somewhat interesting to read the tons of posts, blogs, and articles from them. It's amazing to me how someone who does the natural parenting thing can post time after time about how their decision is the best, their method is proven, and everything else out there is damaging/dangerous/wrong. I've avoided blogging about my opinions, actually, because I haven't wanted to offend. But I've read one offensive post after another, attacking my stance and what I truly believe to be best for my children.
With home births, there seems to be a badge of honor awarded each time, a sense of arrogance surrounding it. "I did it, and I needed nothing." I remember receiving a birth announcement once with the necessary naked baby picture on the front and the stats: "Baby Girl blah blah, 8 lb 4 oz, 21 inches, birthed at home." Like that was a stat, something so significant it needed to be announced to the world. I'm just imagining "Warren & Dean, 2 lbs, birthed in OR 2 via emergency cesarean" on my cards. Does that make me less of a mom? Does it lessen my bond, to have delivered in a hospital much less via c-section (Gasp). Surely not.
I often wonder what natural parents think of our birth story, how we conceived with the help of twice daily injections and sterile procedures. How I stayed pregnant with the help of more drugs and hormones running through my body than I could even remember. How we delivered through surgery, and I had to be sedated toward the end, so I didn't even get to hear Dean cry. It was hours before I first saw my children, days before I held Warren. They survived because of breathing tubes, medications, IV feedings, bili lights, and a whole team of people fighting for them. Now, I'm not going to take God out of the picture at all. No one knows more than us how little statistics really mean. With Reagan, everything looked great until she was gone. With the boys, everything looked awful and we were told they wouldn't survive from the very beginning. God proved my entire medical team wrong, proved He is bigger. And I love that that is part of our story. But, God used each of those physicians, nurses, respiratory therapists, and everyone else to help heal their broken bodies.
After Reagan, I would become so angry when I heard about home births. It seemed, again, like arrogance to think you would never need any sort of medical treatment, that nothing would ever go wrong. And maybe I would have thought that before my daughter died. But along the way I've met people who couldn't get to the hospital in time, whose baby aspirated or had a seizure or just quit breathing. No medical treatment was provided because no skilled treatment or equipment was available. I know women used to do this all the time at home...but they used to die. Women died in childbirth, babies died in childbirth. And to think you are above it all is infuriating to someone who has experienced such loss. While in the NICU, we saw so many full term babies rushed down because of some unforeseen complication. Now, most babies were fine. In a hosptial that size, with as many times as I heard the little chime played, most babies were healthy and stayed in the room, no problem. But I cannot imagine what it would feel like to be one of those women who were wrong. I love the idea of natural childbirth - no drugs, just breathing through it and feeling the whole thing. I may or may not choose that if we have other children. But you can guarantee I'll be doing it from inside a hospital where medical care is available as needed.
I hear the argument, God is in control. God's plan is already set. This is true. Sometimes it's difficult to understand, sometimes God's plan is not mine (often, actually). But God has given us an ability to learn, to develop medicine, to treat dysfunction and disease. The fall brought all this awfulness into the world, but God has given each of us certain abilities, including those who discovered ways to treat infants born prematurely, those who are born with what would have once been a life ending illness. We would not sit by and watch our child or spouse suffer with a life threatening illness and do nothing, stating that this must be God's will.
Some things are a personal choice - breastfeeding vs formula feeding, cloth diapers vs disposables, co sleeping vs baby in a nursery (though baby in your bed is not safe). We chose one side of each of those because we firmly believed it was best for our family. I would make the same decisions again. However, we should not make the other side feel guilty. I see this most with breastfeeding, something women have become very outspoken about in recent years. I breastfed my twins and, minus the last 2 weeks in the NICU to get Warren home, they never had a drop of formula. They are still getting breastmilk at most meals from our freezer stash. However, formula feeding isn't wrong. It is perfectly acceptable. You can still bond with your child. It's not always a selfish decision. For me, in the beginning, breastfeeding was the opposite of bonding. It was awful. I hated every second. And we thought many times about quitting and switching to formula, getting Andrew more involved, and taking the stress out of my day. I felt such guilt over that though, as it was the only thing I could do for them for so long while they were in the NICU. So we continued.
I do not write this to offend people or to state that I am absolutely right and they are wrong. We all make decisions because we think we are doing what is best. I do not know anyone who makes a decision because they think it will harm their child. But from someone who has seen the ugly side of birth, I encourage all of my "natural" friends to simply consider using your birthing plan in a hospital. And to not bash those who chose differently. And to stop posting articles/pictures/blogs about how wonderful breastfeeding is to the detriment of those who chose another option. We are all learning, all trying to do best by our children. And we need to support each other.
With home births, there seems to be a badge of honor awarded each time, a sense of arrogance surrounding it. "I did it, and I needed nothing." I remember receiving a birth announcement once with the necessary naked baby picture on the front and the stats: "Baby Girl blah blah, 8 lb 4 oz, 21 inches, birthed at home." Like that was a stat, something so significant it needed to be announced to the world. I'm just imagining "Warren & Dean, 2 lbs, birthed in OR 2 via emergency cesarean" on my cards. Does that make me less of a mom? Does it lessen my bond, to have delivered in a hospital much less via c-section (Gasp). Surely not.
I often wonder what natural parents think of our birth story, how we conceived with the help of twice daily injections and sterile procedures. How I stayed pregnant with the help of more drugs and hormones running through my body than I could even remember. How we delivered through surgery, and I had to be sedated toward the end, so I didn't even get to hear Dean cry. It was hours before I first saw my children, days before I held Warren. They survived because of breathing tubes, medications, IV feedings, bili lights, and a whole team of people fighting for them. Now, I'm not going to take God out of the picture at all. No one knows more than us how little statistics really mean. With Reagan, everything looked great until she was gone. With the boys, everything looked awful and we were told they wouldn't survive from the very beginning. God proved my entire medical team wrong, proved He is bigger. And I love that that is part of our story. But, God used each of those physicians, nurses, respiratory therapists, and everyone else to help heal their broken bodies.
After Reagan, I would become so angry when I heard about home births. It seemed, again, like arrogance to think you would never need any sort of medical treatment, that nothing would ever go wrong. And maybe I would have thought that before my daughter died. But along the way I've met people who couldn't get to the hospital in time, whose baby aspirated or had a seizure or just quit breathing. No medical treatment was provided because no skilled treatment or equipment was available. I know women used to do this all the time at home...but they used to die. Women died in childbirth, babies died in childbirth. And to think you are above it all is infuriating to someone who has experienced such loss. While in the NICU, we saw so many full term babies rushed down because of some unforeseen complication. Now, most babies were fine. In a hosptial that size, with as many times as I heard the little chime played, most babies were healthy and stayed in the room, no problem. But I cannot imagine what it would feel like to be one of those women who were wrong. I love the idea of natural childbirth - no drugs, just breathing through it and feeling the whole thing. I may or may not choose that if we have other children. But you can guarantee I'll be doing it from inside a hospital where medical care is available as needed.
I hear the argument, God is in control. God's plan is already set. This is true. Sometimes it's difficult to understand, sometimes God's plan is not mine (often, actually). But God has given us an ability to learn, to develop medicine, to treat dysfunction and disease. The fall brought all this awfulness into the world, but God has given each of us certain abilities, including those who discovered ways to treat infants born prematurely, those who are born with what would have once been a life ending illness. We would not sit by and watch our child or spouse suffer with a life threatening illness and do nothing, stating that this must be God's will.
Some things are a personal choice - breastfeeding vs formula feeding, cloth diapers vs disposables, co sleeping vs baby in a nursery (though baby in your bed is not safe). We chose one side of each of those because we firmly believed it was best for our family. I would make the same decisions again. However, we should not make the other side feel guilty. I see this most with breastfeeding, something women have become very outspoken about in recent years. I breastfed my twins and, minus the last 2 weeks in the NICU to get Warren home, they never had a drop of formula. They are still getting breastmilk at most meals from our freezer stash. However, formula feeding isn't wrong. It is perfectly acceptable. You can still bond with your child. It's not always a selfish decision. For me, in the beginning, breastfeeding was the opposite of bonding. It was awful. I hated every second. And we thought many times about quitting and switching to formula, getting Andrew more involved, and taking the stress out of my day. I felt such guilt over that though, as it was the only thing I could do for them for so long while they were in the NICU. So we continued.
I do not write this to offend people or to state that I am absolutely right and they are wrong. We all make decisions because we think we are doing what is best. I do not know anyone who makes a decision because they think it will harm their child. But from someone who has seen the ugly side of birth, I encourage all of my "natural" friends to simply consider using your birthing plan in a hospital. And to not bash those who chose differently. And to stop posting articles/pictures/blogs about how wonderful breastfeeding is to the detriment of those who chose another option. We are all learning, all trying to do best by our children. And we need to support each other.
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