She was one month and a day early....due Jan 11th 2011. But here she is and how amazing she is.
My fears going in were obvious 1) a healthy baby. Always and forever, a healthy baby. Each passing week would mark off one paranoia and add a new one....early and late miscarriages, cord and fluid fears, chromosome fears, size and growth concerns, early labor, still birth....you name it. It was all weighing on me like a stone; one growing in my belly and the other growing on my heart and mind.
You're both scared to grow close to the life inside of you and also guilty of feeling scared to grow close to the life inside of you. You're worried you hope too soon, or you enjoy too late, you love too little or feel too much with so little guaranteed.
You feel the pressure of producing a healthy baby, all eyes on you, because all eyes fell on you when your prior had such heartbreaking issues "What did you do?" and you hear and feel in your heart "How did I fail my baby."
She kicked and I would cry, scared of her, scared for her, then wishing it was Avery, and then feeling like an awful mother for feeling all those things.
At month 3 I put in my mind that no many how many times I ran to the doctors to make them let me hear her heartbeat, there would be nothing I could do if God put my stars in alignment for something other then what I saw to be best; I couldn't stop life from happening the way that God intended it to. I stuck to it and surrendered. It didn't so much ease the fears out of my heart, or off my mind, it did take my responsibility to those worries and fears away.
And then I was worried that she would make people forget Avery. And I threw Avery projects up everywhere. I felt guilty like I was choosing or spending more time with one child and not enough on the other. Would people remember Avery? Was I spending too much time on Avery or too much on her?
She's my daughter, she has my heart as much as my son does. She's here because of my son. And they both know and will know that I love them very much. One here and one in heaven and there's nothing more then being a mommy and worrying about loving them that I need to do to prove I love them both.
And Avery can't be forgotten, because his life lives on here in how we have all changed our lives and live our lives because of him. All the movement he has stirred and put into motion in his life here and continues to do so, no, he won't ever be forgotten. His miss doesn't ever go away. I cradle my little girl and still miss my angel boy.
But my life is because of him and my life is because of her.
Did I truly enjoy the pregnancy, did I feel a glow and a precious grasp on my body? No, I was petrified of my body. Did I love the hope of my baby girl any less, no, because no matter how much I tried to distance my heart from what was happening, she was, like all babies are, alive in my heart and my life from the moment I knew she was on her way.
Doctors would ask me "so do you feel more comfortable now?" No, no I don't. I hear "normal" and I hear "OK" but I don't understand or believe you. I've heard that before. I have yet to see it.
I knew I was pregnant, but sometimes it would take me off guard. It felt like a dream, a complicated one. Notice I didn't say nightmare....it was an enigma, but never a mirage or a night terror.
I would do all I could to get myself excited; little projects to decorate her room and bathroom, trying to get excited about her parties and obsess about her registry and stuff. I refused to wash any of her new clothes until after she was born, and I felt guilty for that.
Then she came early; and those dreaded words "NICU" "monitor" "too much/too little" came up again. And I was furious and scared. Furious at my body for giving out again, scared to have my hopes of a "normal" delivery and experience yanked away from me.
I just wanted to hold her after she was born. I kept saying that over and over. I just want to hold her, we just want a "wireless baby." We want to take her home.
And then she came, 2 pushes and she screamed and I cried and everytime she screamed I cried. I could have jumped up to Heaven with all the love that flooded my heart and all the hope that rained into my spirit with every cry, every furious motion of her wee hands and feet. It grasped my body and pulled the breathe out of me.
And she didn't go to the NICU and she didn't need to be monitored. She stayed with us in our room until we went home.
Did I sleep? No, I was afraid she would gag and I wouldn't hear her. I still will peer at her while she sleeps and touch her head or body to make sure. Do I want to sleep? No, I don't want to blink and I want to the world to see her, to tell me how beautiful she is so that it all feels more like my life and less like a dream.
Then the word "jaundice" came into our worlds. And the gastroschisis mommy in me laughs at me "really? that's what you're worried about?" We've been through so much worse. But the word "Hospital" came with that "jaundice" word (which I thought ridiculous and let people know) and I felt disheartened and frightened again. They came with her glow blanket and when Jared showed the Home Care lady to the door and my child had a long tube coming from her blanket I lost it....there was that damn wire again, tethering my child to machines or medicine because my body failed her. Something was wrong with her and it was my fault. And now her perfect heels are going to have to be poked and she's going to have to go through all these not so nice baby things and it's just not fair. Why can't she just sleep, eat, poop, pee and worry us about how tiny she is and how big her clothes are.
Because that's life. And if it wasn't jaundice and a glowie blanket, it would be something else.
And this is perfect. It's perfect and wonderful; like the angels in the Bible, frightening and fearsome, a display that makes all who have caught glimpse cower and be afraid. But yet they bring great hope, inspiration and the reflect the power, mercy and deep love of the Father.
Such is life; frightening and fearsome, yet perfect and full of hope and love of the Father.
I want to wake up in this good dream and grab on so that it feels real. And then I don't because it all feels so deliciously wonderful. The exhaustion, the mistakes and the learning curb, the stress, the confusion.
The ability to roll over and kiss her wee self where ever and when ever I want to. All the little things that I never got to do but can do with so much passion and so present and so amazed and so gifted now, how every breathe, every motion is a treasure. How each experience is like Christmas. How she continues to take my breathe away.
Things were like this with Avery, where your heart beats stronger with each bat of the eyes, each coo, each cry and each motion, and now it's even more precious because it's new again, and at home.
Home, which suddenly feels full and fulfilled. It feels like home. The nails, the carpet, the molding, it all comes together into a sacred place to try and contain the beating hearts and elated spirits of the residence inside.
How was life/pregnancy/second chance after gastroschisis and loss? It was amazing. A trip I strongly recommend. Was it always beautiful? no it wasn't. But it was well fought, well lived and well worth the battle. Will I do it again? I hope so. Will anything be different...
probably...but then again, everything always is.
So she's here, my amazing daughter; Breanna Grace Rauen. Breanna means "strength, noble." My Strong Grace is here. Her older brother is here too. And life...life continues to amaze, frighten and inspire me. And I'm grateful for each breathe exactly as it is.
