Two

I started this blogging journey almost two years ago with Ted's birth story. I had always wanted a way to document our growing family and share with friends and family near and far. It has evolved and changed as we grow and change and especially when we received Lily's diagnosis. I have spent most of the past year writing about Lily with Ted mixed in. 

I am going to try and devote some more time to Ted so he doesn't feel left out when he looks back on this blog. ;)

Where do I even start? I remember thinking I knew a lot about babies and kids before I had any. I thought that all my years as a babysitter, camp counselor, and teacher would give me all the experience I needed. I thought I would be a pro after all those child development classes and early childhood classes.

I was wrong. Beyond wrong. There really is nothing to prepare you for parenthood, especially those first few weeks and months of utter exhaustion. It was hard to be so tired and sleep deprived, but that's just the physical part. 

The part I really wasn't prepared for was the emotional part. The part where you allow yourself to be your most vulnerable because you have to be. You don't have a choice. You have this sweet and perfect little soul who is depending on you for every single need. The need to be fed, held, changed, loved, and snuggled. 

I learned quickly with Ted all the gadgets and high tech baby stuff didn't matter. All he wanted was me. No swings, no bouncers, not even the Ergo...he just wanted me. 

And now at two years old, my sweet, silly, stubborn, and independent little boy still wants me. He loves to play and loves his toys and friends, but the moments that get me are when he wants me to read him the same book I've read a hundred times. I will start out with him sitting next to me, but it never seems to be close enough. He always wiggles his way up on my lap and rests his head on my chest. This is my moment of pure bliss and it happens every day.

He has a strong personality. He does everything in his own time and at his own pace. Some milestones he reached really early, others he seemed to take his time. As an infant he ate every fruit and vegetable under the sun, now on a good day, he won't even try them. He is independent, pushing a chair all over the house to climb into different cupboards. He loves feeding Charlie anything he doesn't want. 

He takes his time when he is trying something new. He loves to build and stack and then knock it all down. If he could have just one toy it would be a ball. He adores his friends, especially his sweet Lucy. He giggles with delight at the sound of her voice.

He says goodbye to all of his toys when we leave the house. He says "please" and "thank you" without being asked. He calls me, "Mah!" He loves his "choo-choos" and seeing "airpanes" outside. He loves "Melmo" and "George". 

He loves his daddy so much. He shouts with joy whenever he comes home. He loves building trains and playing ball with him. Most recently, he only wants "dada" to put him to bed and does everything he can to stay up with him longer.

And every night after we say our prayers and put him to bed, he looks over at his sister's picture and says, "bye bye baby". 

There is no parent book to prepare you for that.

We had so much fun celebrating Ted all weekend with baseball, the zoo and train park. 

I love you, my sweet Ted. You have changed my life forever. Thank you for fulfilling my heart's greatest desire. Thank you for making me a mom.

Happy birthday St. Leo

It truly is amazing to me when I look back and see how God was preparing me for Lily. Different moms who have all experienced the loss of a child have been interwoven in my life since I moved here. In the past five years I have attended the funeral of a 19 year old, a five year old, a one year old, and a young mother. 

I have been in awe of each of these mothers who have experienced these losses. I admired their strength, their courage, mostly their faith. From my eyes, they completely abandoned their selves to God. They put their families right in God's hands. They didn't understand, but they trusted. They believed. 

But there was one mom in particular that really tugged at my heart. I was and still am in complete awe of her. Her sweet son Leo prepared me for Lily before I even knew I needed to prepare. I had never met his mom, but to me, she was the kind of mother I aspired to be. 

I had just learned that I was pregnant again...excited and scared, nervous and full of joy to be doing it all over again. My dear friend shared in our Women's group about another mom from our church that knew already her child would not survive. Her child had anencephaly and his brain and skull had not formed properly. He was not expected to live for long, if he survived birth at all. I honestly think I gasped in disbelief that anyone would have to go through this. 

I have been Pro-Life my whole life, but that belief had never been tested. I observed from afar what it truly meant to respect the dignity of all life. 

My dear friend shared on her blog about the shower she hosted for Leo's mom. Again, I was in awe of this woman. How was she doing this? How would she get through pregnancy and labor knowing she did not get to keep her son? I was mesmerized by her strength and courage, all the time oblivious to what I was about to face.

This is the comment I posted on my friend's blog post, just six weeks before Lily's diagnosis:

"Such a beautiful testament of her courage and faith and of your servant hood. Thank you for sharing this. I'm in complete awe of a mother willing to love her child so selflessly. I know it's all of our goals, but we fall short so often. She is truly living up to self-sacrificing love. Continuing to pray for mom and baby."

Leo was born sleeping just a few weeks later. I didn't know him, but he forever left an imprint on my heart. Because of Leo, my doctor didn't have to be a "doctor" and explain what was happening, she could just hold my hand and let me cry. 

Shortly after Lily's diagnosis, I met Leo's mom for the first time. If you know me, you know I'm not much of a hugger, but the moment I met Leo's mom we hugged and both cried. She knew my aching heart better than anyone. She told me that the morning before she learned of Lily, she had a dream about Leo. It's been almost a year and she still says it was her only dream of him. She said Leo woke her up in her dream and told her she needs to pray for Lily. Just one month after she lost her sweet Leo, she offered to walk with us on this journey. That alone gave me hope, and I was able to start picking myself up from the despair. I am still in awe of this woman and I am eternally grateful for her "yes" to Leo and her "yes" to me. 

Today is Leo's feast day. I think of Leo and Lily every day, but especially today. I can see  them perfectly...dancing together, forever in the Resurrection. Happy feast day, sweet Leo, give your momma an extra kiss and whisper from Heaven today.

Five months

I pretty much summed up where I am at in my last post, so I won't delve into that too much. Life without Lily is hard, harder than I ever imagined. Lent was hard. It seems pointless and stupid to me...making a "sacrifice" of giving up chocolate or Facebook or something else that is so insignificant now? Dumb.

My parents did come to visit in March and it was wonderful to have them here. Ted and I have seen my family every month since October and it's been such a needed blessing. I have really needed to have that time with them. I think they need it too. I think they need to see that even though we are hurting, we are ok. We went to a few baseball games and took Ted to the zoo and really, just spent time together. Lily has brought my whole family closer and that is something I am truly grateful for.

Easter finally arrived after a really tough Holy Week. I cried. Every. Single. Day. I cried because I missed her. I cried because I feel so guilty that I can't pray. I cried because there are no more pictures. I cried because Ted says, "baby" and it's not his sister. I cried because she never opened her eyes or made a sound. I cried because Ted looks at her picture in our room and says, "bye bye baby". I cried because she was strong and dancing in my belly until she wasn't. I cried because I see toddlers with their baby siblings. I cried because Ted wanted to wear his "Brother of the Year" shirt two days in a row. I cried simply because I miss her. Every. Single. Day.

But friends, there is hope. Hope in the Resurrection. Hope in knowing that my beautiful daughter is dancing in the Resurrection. On Easter, I woke up a little bit refreshed, a little lighter...because He lives.

"Because He lives

I can face tomorrow

Because He lives 

Every fear is gone

I know He holds my life 

my future in His hands"

Because He lives...my daughter is dancing in Heaven. Amen.

This road to Calvary

Friends, Palm Sunday rocked me. 

Ted's been sick the past week, so I found myself sitting in a pew by myself, sitting between strangers. I hate going to Mass alone...especially now. I welcome the distraction of my almost two-year old and find so much comfort and protection with my husband by my side. 

But instead of the comfort and distraction, I found myself facing the start of Holy Week all by myself...no distraction, nothing to comfort or protect me. Nothing to shield me from the full range of emotions I have not wanted to feel. And then the Psalm, that Psalm that I used to love because the reality of it had never sunk in...until now. "My God, my God, why have you abandoned me?" The wave of emotions washed over me like a tidal wave.

Despair. Anger. Guilt.

I never thought I would be angry. I guess there really are stages of grief. I am angry at everything. I am angry that Ted doesn't have his sister. I'm angry that my prayer wasn't answered. Angry that there won't be anymore pictures. I'm angry that I don't feel any peace right now. Angry that "joy in suffering" makes me laugh right now. I am angry that we had to pick out a grave marker. I am angry that Ted's two-year old pictures will be with a stupid bear instead of his sister. Angry that I still haven't lost my baby weight. I am angry that I don't get to boycott the stupid frilly and fluffy Easter dresses and put Lily in something simple and sweet. I'm angry that the world moves forward and I still miss my daughter.

And then the guilt comes. And friends, the guilt is so much worse than the anger. Guilt is what reduces you to sobbing, ugly tears when you are sitting amongst strangers in a pew (I can only imagine what they were thinking). It leaves you walking up the aisle towards the Eucharist with tears streaming down your face, barely able to mumble "Amen". It finds you kneeling in the pew, blinded by the tears, sobbing and telling your daughter, once again, "I'm so so sorry." Over and over, "I'm so sorry Lily."

Your brain knows that there was nothing you could do, but that doesn't help your mama heart. 

My heart is heavy and weary, friends. I miss her so much I can barely breathe. So while the me I used to be loves this season, this Holy Week, the me I am now dreads it. I've been walking this road to Calvary for 10 months and I don't see it ending on Sunday.

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Four months (How it should be)

Ted and I made a trip to Iowa this past month so I could go on girls' weekend with my dear friends. It was exactly what I needed.

I love these ladies so much. I've known each one of them since high school. It's amazing to have friends like this. In high school we were so silly and naive. We dealt with teenage angst and broken hearts. We all went on to different things after high school...some of us had a four year plan, some of us didn't, but we all danced to the beat of our own drum.

At one point we all lived in different states and didn't see each other very often. Almost 8 years ago we started our annual camping weekend. This one weekend a year has bonded us more than I ever could have imagined. 

I adore these ladies.

I love to laugh with these ladies and I know I can cry with them too. I needed this weekend so much. For a brief fleeting moment, I almost felt like the me I used to be. Almost.

But the truth is, even on this wonderful weekend laughing with my favorite Iowa girls and Ted getting another chance to know his cousins...all I can think about is how it should be.

As great as it was to have my parents watch Ted for the weekend, all I could think about was that I should be making this trip with Lily...a girls' weekend with my baby girl and Ted should be having a boys' weekend with his dad. 

And the truth is, this isn't a thought that just pops up on the 12th of every month...it happens every single moment of every single day. 

I think about how it should be all the time. It hasn't gotten any easier, in fact, it's harder than I ever imagined it would be. I miss her more today than I did four months ago. 

I think about all the milestones that she's missed. When Ted was four months old, he was rolling over, sleeping through the night, and full of smiles and coos. And then I realize once again, I don't get any of these moments with Lily. I don't get to see her chest rise and fall as she peacefully slumbers in my arms. I don't get to cheer her on for those sweet moments of accomplishment and new discovery. Worst of all, I miss those smiles and coos I will never get to see. 

I think about what Ted would be like with her. He's talking and babbling and such a toddler now. He squeezes and kisses his "Lily Bear". When I think about how it should be...how Ted should be giving kisses and squeezes to his sister and not a bear. How he should be fighting for my attention, not getting me all to himself. How I should have a million pictures of them together instead of a scattered few from the hospital and her funeral.

How she should be in my arms instead of being able to write this blog. She should be rolling over, laughing at her brother. She should be resting in her dad's arms right now. 

How it should be...every minute of every day I think of how it should be...how she should be nestled in her mother's arms, instead of my arms aching without her.

How it should be...I shouldn't have to miss her at all.