4 months and a dress

So, Hannah turned 4 months old!  2 weeks ago...oops.  It's been a busy and hectic 2 weeks, so I'm just now getting around to writing about our sweet daughter.

The last month passed in a blur of cleaning and home showings, temper tatrums and 2 year olds, and little Hannah just hanging on for the ride.  She's still very content, happily going along wherever we end up.  She's sleeping through the night and in her very own room.  She loves sucking her thumb and will put herself back to sleep in seconds if she can find that right one.  She's still rolling to her back and is getting close to being able to roll to her belly.  If I could safely leave her on the floor without worrying about her getting trampled, she'd be much more likely to accomplish that feat.  And she has the greatest little giggle and open mouth smile.  Love it - the joy expressed by a child. <3

My past month has revolved around creating Hannah's baptism gown.  Whew.  I got the idea to search pinterest for a gown I could make about 5 weeks ago.  My thought was I would sew something lacy, but I couldn't find a pattern I liked all that much.  And let's be honest, my sewing skills are sub par at best.  I can sew a straight line, but I'd really rather someone else handle the pinning and cutting.  And then I came across this little crocheted thing, and thought, wow.  That's beautiful and I can definitely do that.  Three days later I had about 1 inch of a vertical stripe for the skirt, and knew I was in trouble.  Where to find the time to do this??  I can crank out a hat with yard in under 30 minutes.  But this dress, with the thin string...  Step 1, chain 316.  Eek.  And then came along my husband, sweet man that he is, who said "you can't finish that."  Well, I don't have a choice now, do I?? Stubborn Meghan took over and I just had to do it.  Of course I also wanted Hannah to have something special, something she could pass down to her own children one day.  I knew it was something I would have made for Reagan and I didn't want the fact that Hannah was our 4th and my days were busy to stop her from having something beautiful too.  So, for the next 5 weeks, every spare second was spent on the dress.  From the second Hannah went down until 11:30, from the time my alarm went off in the morning until kids woke up, nap times, and even while nursing Hannah, I was crocheting.  It became somewhat of a full time job at times.  But, it was finished just in time.  And our sweet daughter was baptized Sunday into God's promises.

Big Boy Beds

We have made the transition.  A few weeks earlier than I would have liked, but there you have it.  Big. Boy. Beds.  The transition has been rough, to say the least.  It's honestly ruining a number of relationships and dynamics in our household right now.  As I'm typing this during "nap" time, I hear Dean and Warren fighting, dresser drawers opening and closing, things slamming.  In the past week we experienced bite marks, hitting, overturned furniture, various ointments smeared over the room, clothes strewn about, etc.  I miss my babies in their cribs.

The initial days were filled with the basics...not wanting to nap, getting out of their cribs, pulling clothes out of the drawer or books off the shelf.  Nothing major, just a little time spent picking up once the designated "rest" time was over.  As week 1 progressed though, they rapidly became bored with these minor indiscretions.  Thursday started out rough, as they ripped each and every page out of their 2 new books.  By 1pm, after 3 days of no naps, they were exhausted.  I put them down, confident they would be asleep in minutes.  As I fed Hannah, I patted myself on the back for the quiet that was happening in the other room.  I didn't hear much of anything.  A few murmurs every once in a while, but no screaming as in previous days.  I sat downstairs and played with Hannah, ate a quick sandwich, thought about what would take priority on my first day with naps during the week in a while.  And then I heard a giggle.  Hmmm....let them play, I thought.  Then I heard a dresser drawer.  "It's easy to clean up the clothes.  Not worth the argument now" I thought.  Then came the "stop it Warrie."  Sigh...up I go.  I was not prepared for the sight when I opened the door.  Clothes were everywhere, not a single item left in the drawers.  Dean and Warren were soaking wet.  Wait a minute...not wet...greasy.  What is that??  Oh, an entire tub (TUB) of Burt's Bee's ointment.  Gross.  Into the bath they go. As I'm asking Warren what happened (he keeps saying, with a huge smile on his face, "I put the stuff in my hair. I put the stuff in my hair") I learn that the "stuff" was also put on the chair, floor, clothes, and wall.  Eek.  I return to the room, swivel the chair around, and find it COVERED in the "stuff."  A little bit of butt paste mixed in and, well, you've got hours of clean up.

Friday nap time came around, and I have removed some of the clothes from their drawers after 5 loads of laundry the day before to get said "stuff" off.  Books are gone from their shelves, table is removed so there is no climbing.  And the chair is still drying out from the deep clean the night before.  Their room is bare...or so I think.  Somehow, they managed to overturn the entire dresser.  And find Dean's fancy prescription cream to smear all over the dresser and wall and remaining clothes.  Into the bath they go...  I then take and shut them into the playroom to begin the clean up process.  Screaming begins and I find 2 fresh bite marks on Dean and some whelps on Warren's back from a wooden stick.  Sigh...  I put in a movie and all is quiet for about 5 minutes.  I resume the clean up process.  In the back of my mind I hear a few banging noises, but they are boys, and no one is crying, so it's a win.  Or not...  I walk back into the playroom and Dean grins up at me.  "I got the fishy Mommy."  Huh?? I turn back to look at the TV where Finding Nemo was playing and see a whole lot of lines and black space that was not there just a few minutes ago.  Yeah, you got the fishy buddy...

These are the days, these long days, when I feel like a complete and utter failure as a mom.  I cannot balance Hannah's needs with the boys' needs with my own.  Everyone gets just a little piece, but no one gets all they need.  And by the end of the day, we are exhausted.  And I'm ready to quit.  To retire.  To hire full time help.  Something.  Days with twin two-year-olds stretch me to my limit.  And then....then we have conversations like we did in the car today.  Warren and Dean are sitting in the back saying "Nutter Butter".  They had just gone to the grocery store before picking me up, so I'm thinking they got a peanut butter treat.  Nope.  Peanut butter? Nope.  As they keep repeating it, I realize they're saying "another brother" quoting a book we have at home.  Ahh...  Andrew says "do you want another brother" (deep breath as I imagine adding another brother into this craziness).  And Dean gets so sad.  No, I don't want another brother.  I want to have Warrie.  Ahhh....melt.  "Warrie my  best friend"  Ahhh...the cuteness.  The tender heart.  That child.  They really do love each other so, despite the fighting and trouble making.  And they road the rest of the way home singing songs and holding hands and loving their brother. <3

3 Months

I cannot believe our little girl is already 3 months old.  Time has just flown by!

At the end of 3 months, I already know so much about her.  How she likes to be swaddles, how she likes to be held, what songs will put her to sleep, what positions are most comfortable.  I know what her smile looks like when she is happy and what her cries are trying to tell me.  These are all things I wasn't able to know having twins, or maybe it was having preemies, or some combination of those factors.  Regardless, this sweet little girl is a breeze and complete joy.  I couldn't have asked for anything better to add to our mix of crazy.

And yet, I constantly feel like I am not enough.  It's so incredibly hard to balance time with the kids, to split myself amongst 3 little needy people.  When I am reading and doing puzzles and running with the boys, poor Hannah is left to defend herself from the floor.  When I am nursing Hannah or putting her down for one of her naps, the boys are left on their own.  This means I am returning to a room that is destroyed, books strewn about and things ripped off the walls.  Or, they are being babysat for that 10 minutes by a quick TV show...followed by the tantrums that I make them turn it off.  Don't get me wrong, these are good struggles to have, but it is a difficult stage of life.

I read (the beginning anyway) of another article on infertility earlier today.  And I am reminded that this crazy, messy life filled with temper tantrums and biting, silly smiles and laughter, tears and so many firsts is EXACTLY what my heart longed for.  In these quiet moments when Hannah is sleeping and the boys are destroying something I'm sure I'll be cleaning in just a few minutes, I am reminded that this is what I prayed for.  For a home that is full, for little feet running through it.  Though we always miss our Reagan's feet, though I always know life should be a little more crazy and my heart aches for that, I am so thankful for these moments.

So...Hannah ends 3 months right on track, rolling over, smiling at herself in the mirror, finally starting to enjoy tummy time, LOVING her thumb, and not too far off from graduating to the next size of clothes.  We don't have an exact weight or length (man, it takes some getting used to to not have bimonthly weight checks and appointments...) but somewhere just shy of 12 pounds and 25 inches.  Whew!

Full Term

Life with a full term baby is so SO different.  I am not balancing feeding schedules and apnea monitors.  I do not have to lie awake at night, imagining the beeping of the alarm to signify they've stopped breathing.   I've never watched Hannah struggle to catch her breath, never stood by helpless as she turned blue, never had to teach her to eat.  She came out huge and round, ready to go.  She came out crying, ate as soon as I was stitched up, and had these beautiful full cheeks.

And yet, she is growing up before my very eyes.  Each day, she is SO much bigger than the day before.  She is developing so fast - in growth and what she is able to accomplish.  She knows nothing of the battle to overcome the way Warren and Dean did.  She was born knowing so much, possessing so much.  Oh, how I would have taken it all for granted were it not for my 2 little miracles sleeping upstairs.  I wouldn't have given it a second thought - the ease at which she accomplishes all these "normal" milestones, eating and sleeping and playing exactly like she is supposed to.

Our weeks with W&D are now filled with 6 therapy appointments, progress notes, and goals to achieve.  Two and a half years later, they still have to work for it.  But, you know what?  They will be better because of that.  They will be stronger.  They will understand work ethic and persistence from a young age.  Life with preemies hasn't been easy, from our end or theirs.  But we are all so much different, so much stronger, because of their journey.  As I think back on my pregnancy with the boys, as I continue to struggle with guilt and pain at not providing more for them, I have to remind myself that God is still bigger.  His plan is STILL better than mine, whether I understand that at this exact moment in time or not.  It's a constant struggle for me, that letting go and trusting.  Even if it's simply letting go and trusting with what has already happened.

I love Hannah immeasurably.  And life with just Hannah would have been so carefree and easy.  She's such a blessing, a joy, to raise.  Even in the wee hours of the morning, when she smiles up at me, I'm filled with such love.  But who I am, the mother I have become, is all shaped by years of trials.  Of saying goodbye to Reagan, of standing by unable to do anything but pray and wait and trust with the boys, of months in the NICU.  I watch Hannah as she is growing up so very fast, trying to not take a second of that time for granted, knowing that tomorrow is never promised but desperately trying to not live a life of fear.  If I had never experienced difficulty, loss, sorrow, trials and struggle with our first 3 children, I would never have known what a blessing life truly is.  I might begrudge those 3am wakings, the crying and fussing in the evening.  But God has taught me how precious life is, how precious my children are, and how short time on earth can really be.  It's a lesson I wish I didn't understand, and yet I am grateful, because it has given me a greater depth of love.

Saying Goodbye

This is a hard post to write, coming after a difficult decision for our family.  We are moving.  There, I said it.  My heart is heavy and a bit broken, though I know this is what is best for our family.

Andrew has accepted a position with Pinnacle, the company he worked for the first 5 years we were married.  It's a family business, and we're both so excited for him to work for such a Christ centered company doing something he loves.  The struggle for me lies within the move itself.  We haven't been able to be as involved in Charlotte and our community as I would have liked, or even as much as we did when we first moved.  Years filled with loss, bed rest, and then isolation took that from us.  I pictured our lives here, close to the mountains and beach, close to family, with our kids playing in the parks I drove past daily, playing t-ball on the field near our home, dancing in the studio with the neighbors, swimming in our awesome neighborhood pool.  I pictured this long before we were actually able to have kids, and the image shattered when we lost Reagan.  We talked of moving then, of trying to run away and escape the broken dreams that haunted me.  But God graciously gave us Warren and Dean, and then Hannah.  And the life I pictured slowly started to take root.  Though it was always broken, though our family is never complete, I pictured our children growing up here.  We talked of moving closer to Charlotte, getting more involved in the NICU at the hospital, doing more of the speaking engagements.  Most of what I pictured could happen in just about any town...the sports, the parks, dance recitals.  The scenery might be different.  The weather might be hotter.  But the activity, the memories we could create, would all be very similar.

Here's the hard part: Reagan.  This is Reagan's home, her only home.  This is where her butterfly is painted on the wall, the only remnant of her nursery.  This is where I held her and loved her.  This is where I said goodbye.  That's it.  She only gets one home, and I'm leaving it.  And Reagan's Garden.  We started that organization to reach families specifically in Charlotte, so that no one would ever feel as alone or isolated as we did.  And now?  We'll continue the services, I'll still be making cards and NICU boxes.  Hurting families here in Charlotte will continue to receive all the same materials of support because this is Reagan's home and where my passion lies.  But I won't be able to really minister to these hurting families, to potentially meet up with them for coffee, to hear face-to-face about their little ones gone too soon.  My passion, my heart, is still in this community.  I pray it will one day grow to include communities in Florida, and I trust that it will.  But in the mean time, I still feel like I'll always have one foot in Charlotte where our eldest daughter lived.

So, you ask, how can you support us?  We are in need of prayers - prayers for my heart as I leave this town, prayers for our family as we transition, and prayers for Reagan's Garden - that we would be able to find willing families to run support dinners, that we would continue to be able to grow and support families in Charlotte, that I would be able to keep up with making the cards and boxes so that no one goes without simply because we are not local anymore.  I want Reagan's memory to live on here, I want her life to continue to be impactful, I want to help families find hope amidst the loss and despair after suffering the death of their child.  It will be difficult, but I must trust that God can work out all the details.

Happy 2 months!

Happy 2 month birthday little Hannah!  Or should I say, not so little :).  Our petite little girl, who was down in the 12th percentile at her 1 month check up, hit a huge growth spurt and is in the 23rd (she's carrying most of the weight in her cheeks these days) weighing in at 10lb 4oz! Woo hoo!  I must say, it is so nice having a full term chunky baby.  After 2 kiddos who didn't reach the growth chart until their 2nd birthday, this is easy.  No weigh ins before and after every feeding, no consulting feeding specialists, no stressing and worrying over their lack of weight gain.  We still have our nursing struggles, don't you worry, but it is much different with a full term baby.

Hannah still loves to cuddle.  She is never happier than when she is asleep on my chest (as she is now), softly snoring away like her daddy and brother Warren.  She has slept as long as 6 hours at night which is incredibly important at helping me survive the days. She seems to only be incredibly fussy on the 4 days following any amount of dairy/soy intake.  So for now, none of that for this mama!  Totally worth the sacrifice to get the sleep.  And when my boys are whining and Hannah is crying at the same time it's, well, awful.  My head comes very close to exploding and the headache lasts far longer than the crying.  Let's just say that the whining is enough to make one go insane and Hannah's lungs are definitely not weak. We experienced some unfortunate days after a rather delicious Starbucks soy latte.  Never again...

But outside of that, she's a fairly laid back little girl.  Hannah still spends most of her time hanging out sleeping, eating, and pooping, as all 2 month olds should.  She's still fairly pampered with her expansive girly wardrobe.  Warren and Dean love helping me pick out her outfit each morning and require only a little guidance for weather appropriate attire.  She's just started smiling in recent days and will have a conversation of cooing with me.  I love those rare moments, when the boys are napping or with Andrew, Hannah is awake, and I'm able to really focus on her, playing and talking without guarding her head from flying wooden blocks.  It's a crazy household she's growing up in!

Love you so much sweet girl!  Don't grow up too fast for your mommy...

I have 4 children

How many children do you have?  This seemingly innocent, easy question still causes me to cringe.  I'm not quite sure how to answer.  If I answer truthfully, 4, the follow up is usually how old are they? As I've taken Hannah out and about while the boys are home or at the park, I tend to get asked "Is she your first."  Maybe something about me screams first time mom?  I get some looks of shock when I reply, no, she's my 4th.  And then that question...how old are they?  Sometimes it's easier to say 3 and twins who are 2.  Sometimes I'll say our oldest would be 3 and I have twins who are 2.  But sometimes I take the easy way out, particularly when I'm out with all 3 of these crazy kiddos, and I just say the 3 of them.  And then I'm hit with this wave of doubt, of guilt.  Reagan made me a mommy.  She made me feel this attachment and protectiveness I'd never felt before.  She made me into the woman I am today, the mom I am today.  And yet, I feel this pressure to pretend like she doesn't exist.  I hate that.

Since Hannah's birth, we've been able to bond.  Despite sleepless nights and stressful days, I love that little girl immeasurably.  She brings me great joy.  And yet, I feel a longing for Reagan even more.  Maybe it's simply that she's a girl.  That I think of my own sisters and the relationships we had and I know Hannah will never experience that with Reagan.  Maybe it's the sense of normalcy that was completely lacking after the boys were born, when I didn't have much time to just process through the emotions of having our rainbow babies.

Christmas season is especially hard.  Well, really, the entire holiday season, from Halloween (for obvious reasons) to Thanksgiving and Christmas.  It's all a reminder of this empty spot in our lives.  Another seat that should be around the table, eating turkey and pie.  A missing stocking hanging from the mantle.  Only 5 instead of 6.  One whole member of our family is just erased from our holiday pictures.  I want her to be included, I want her to be remembered.  She was born, I felt her kick in my belly for months, watched her heart flutter on ultrasounds, planned my life with her, and then held her still body in my arms.  The fact that she didn't get to take a breath outside me doesn't erase her life or her significance, doesn't mean she isn't just as much a part of my family as our other kids.

This is our 4th Christmas without Reagan.  How can that be? It seems like just yesterday I was holding her close.  Regardless, as the years go by, that empty spot does not.  The grief, the raw and gripping pain, the immeasurable sense of loss, are all still just as present this year as years past.  Our home is full of laughter and tiny feet, but one set is always missing.  One blonde girl dressed in purple is dancing in heaven instead of with her mommy.  Nothing changes that.

I have 4 children.  I have 2 girls and 2 boys.  I did not "finally get a girl," I already have one.  She's being cared for by her heavenly Father instead of her earthly parents.  But she is still very much our daughter.