Rainbow baby

 Here in the Wasatch Front, the air gets pretty dirty.  Pollution and dirt and dust collect in the huge valley surrounded by all the mountains.  I love the clarity that comes right after rain, when I can look out my window and see mountains clear across Salt Lake, a VERY long way away.   I love the way the world smells after a rain storm, it's so fresh and clean and delightful.  Sometimes I am lucky enough to witness a rainbow near the end of a storm, and sometimes not, but there is definitely a clarity and crispness in the air, and a scent of life, and freshness.

I hadn't heard the term "rainbow baby" until I was in the hospital delivering Miriam.  Of course my nurses asked about previous pregnancies and so we explained about Gideon.  She said "Oh--this is your rainbow baby." and I have loved the term since.

Not that I would wish a loss on anyone, but I have never loved having a newborn so much before, and I appreciate the joy that I feel with this one compared to the others.  I almost feel guilty for how much I didn't enjoy the others, because I am so delighted with her.  I was so tired from time spent feeding, changing, and rocking the baby, and so I didn't see past the exhaustion.  Now my overriding emotion is gratitude.  I'm still tired, but I'm also so grateful for the chance to feed, change, and rock her.  Hearing her cry at first was such a blessing, and I still sometimes laugh when she is crying, because I'm just so happy to be with her, to have had this last six weeks to hold her and love her, to see her beginning to smile, and to get to understand who she is (she's a good eater who doesn't like to have a dirty bum, and she's a sucker for a snuggle from her Daddy, who can almost always calm her down.)

Miri is a delightful little rainbow.  We actually had 2 storms before she joined us...not many people know, but we miscarried one before Gideon was conceived. 

I loved the beautiful way these photographers captured rainbow babies and their mothers.  There is some amazing joy here, so perhaps grab a tissue. 
Photographers capture Rainbow Babies www.littlethings.com

Losing a child really can feel like weathering a rough storm.  It is dark, dreary, and scary.  It can be really disorienting and disrupt daily life.  It's a storm so rough that an umbrella doesn't cut it...I know that storms really don't end completely, there are still moments of dark, disorienting, disruptive dreariness, and a longing that I can't explain--even with my baby in my arms.  It feels less like a constant torrential downpour, and more like a cloudburst as part of a normal weather pattern.  I anticipate that these "cloudbursts" will continue for most of my life.  (In fact, the other day, we took our kids out for fast food, and at the playland, a boy was calling to his little brother, whose name happened to be Gideon.  We left with me in tears.)  That being said, the storm is not severe all the time, and there is a clarity that has come from weathering it; my perspective has broadened, I feel like I can see more now.  It's like when I can see the mountains in the distance after a rain storm--they were already there, I just couldn't see them before the storm cleaned the air.  And our rainbow baby truly feels like a miracle.  Life is precious...all life, whether a baby is a rainbow baby or not, a baby is a miracle.  I love her so much, and I love time I spend with her, even if it's diaper changing, sleep lost, or fussy time.  She has added color and beauty to our world, and I marvel at the miracle she is.

Cranky and tired, but I have a plan to soften my heart

Firstly, I'll update on the status of things here in our home.  Our baby is doing well, she's quite a good eater, and growing like she should.  She's begun to do slightly longer stretches at night, sometimes going 4 or 5 hours between feedings, so I'm still tired, but it's not so bad.  Holding her feels so good to my heart, and I am pretty certain she's held and doted on more than any of my other babies (and not just by me, as anyone who has watched my husband with her can attest.)  It is sometimes hard, I look down at her face and can see the resemblance she has to my other children, even to Gideon.  It makes me miss him, and wonder how he'd be doing by now likely uttering his first words, walking, and curious and into everything.  It also makes me so grateful for the chance I have to nurse and snuggle her, even to hear what her cry sounds like.  I sometimes wonder as I see her focus on places in the room where no-one is standing. if she can see Gideon, and hope he knows that we love him and miss him still.

That's not what I intended to blog about today, though.

I have teased people about borrowing my children when they need to understand their scriptures.  Not because my children know and understand so much, but because they aren't afraid to stop and ask questions.  If we read a word or phrase they (or we) don't understand, instead of skipping past it, we talk about it, guess at its meaning, and seek for ways to understand it.  Often, as we attempt to understand things and spend a little time pondering, our minds and hearts open up, and we gain insights.  I understand my scriptures way better as I read them to and with my children.  (Says the Mom who is going on 3 nights in a row of skipping family scripture study because it got too late and the kids need sleep--and so do I.)

On one of these "break it down" moments, as we talked about hard hearts, I stumbled upon a great metaphor for life.  Our hearts are like playdoh, and God is the creator.  He's trying to shape us, to create some awesome stuff.  Playdoh is perfect right out of the box, but just from being out in the world, it starts to dry up, just as we tend to become more tough and hardened by the world.  This is easily remedied with a few drops of water after playing with it--and as we make sure we partake of daily living water (scripture study/prayer/spiritual experiences), we keep our hearts soft and easily shaped.  Another way to keep playdoh in good shape is to make sure it's container (it's home) is sealed well (a holy place where the world can't get in and dry it all up.) Occasionally, the playdoh gets quite dry, and it takes more water to help it be able to be used.  And sometimes, it's just so hard, there's not much to be done besides start over with new playdoh.  Hard playdoh can't be shaped--it MUST be softened before anything can be done with it.

Several times in 1 Nephi, Nephi explains about his brothers' hard hearts.  It makes sense that no matter the amazing tools the Lord was using to try and shape their lives (Liahona, seeing an angel, witnessing miracles, a father who was a prophet), nothing worked.  Their playdoh needed to be softened first.  And occasionally, they did add water, the spirit touched them.  They just never maintained the habit of adding living water, so their hearts dried right back up again.

This is a cautionary tale for me as much as anyone.  I noticed today (after a few days in a row of falling short on my scripture study) that I have a very testy temper, I feel not like my best, most patient self.  Once I realized that I am not being as nice as usual, I started thinking about what I needed to do to fix it.  Sleep would help, but I've been running on lack of sleep for many weeks now, and I knew that wasn't the only culprit.  I tried to remember how many days it has been since I did good scripture study, and it's been a few (less than a week, but several days) and my prayers have been more sporadic and not as deep (again--tiredness taking its toll).  I remembered about the playdoh, and I know I need to do better, to get myself back where I want to be, where the Lord can shape me and help me be what he knows i can become.  I need to do better about adding living water into my life each day, more so now, with the tiredness than before.

Another part of the parable that applies particularly right now is that playdoh dries out faster in different temperatures/climates than others.  Heat/dry air will definitely take a toll faster than cold/wet air.  Some days are harder on our spirits than others.  Gideon's grave marker finally was put in at his grave site, and it was hard for both Scott and I to see it.  It's not news...but there's still such a finality in seeing his grave marker, all that it represents, and all that we're missing.  I need the scriptues and the spirit and prayer in my life MORE on days like that, but I neglected them, and I can tell by my crankiness.

ALSO, I promised I'd share a picture of Gideon's grave marker, and it's finally here.  This grave marker is bigger than he was (he was tiny).  I find myself out of words when I see it, it is heavy in more ways than one....so I'll just leave its picture at the end.

Two roads diverged...and my life now

Yesterday, as I was going through our poetry unit with Ethan, we had a discussion about Robert Frost's poem "The Road Not Taken", which caused me to stop and ponder.  Ethan didn't know what hit him as I had a good cry while we discussed choices and memories and looking back.

I'm pretty sure that if you are my friend, you have read this poem. BUT--for those of you who still want to be my friend and have not read it...it is here for your reading enjoyment, and for a broadening of your horizons, and a deepening of your soul. 

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could To where it bent in the undergrowth; Then took the other, as just as fair, And having perhaps the better claim, Because it was grassy and wanted wear; Though as for that the passing there Had worn them really about the same, And both that morning equally lay In leaves no step had trodden black. Oh, I kept the first for another day! Yet knowing how way leads on to way, I doubted if I should ever come back. I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference.

I particularly thought about the moment when the doctors told us that Gideon's condition was most likely lethal, and when they asked if we wanted to permanently prevent having children in the future.  I had four healthy children, and the chances of us having another child with the same problems as Gideon were higher than other couples.  I considered it, I contemplated taking that road....  I looked at my two choices, down each road "as far as I could".  Both roads looked fair, but which path was the one I truly wanted?  I decided the road of "being done" was not the road I wanted to go down, even though it is a road MANY people would travel.  And it's NOT a bad road to travel, I am not judging anyone who would have chosen differently than I did.  For me, though, it was not the path I wanted to take.  We all have to follow different paths.  As Miriam celebrates one month, I think of the difference I am seeing in my life already.  I think of the weight I carried during pregnancy (and I'm not talking about the pounds/kilos), but the worry.  It was a hard pregnancy emotionally, and there were times I wondered if I had chosen the right path.  I knew that I had felt strongly about the path I chose, and I had to trust in those feelings as doubt and worry crept in.  Now I can see the way my children adore their sister, the way her presence encourages peace and happiness in our home.  It feels like it has been "ages and ages" and looking back, as hindsight lends depth to my ability to understand, I can understand why this road was the right road for me, and I'm grateful I trusted that feeling.  It is only one of many paths I have chosen when presented with "two roads" literally and figuratively.  When our family goes to visit National Parks, we carefully consider which hikes we'll take, how far we can go, and what we want to see.  We've seen and experienced so many glorious things, no matter which paths we choose, but I've rarely started a hike and regretted it.  (Only once that I can think of, every other time I've been so pleased at all I have seen and experienced.)  No matter which path, which hike, there are beautiful things to experience, and I'm grateful for the paths I have taken, even though sometimes I look back and wonder what the "other roads" may have led to.  My sister and I at Arches National Park 2013 Bryce Canyon National Park 2014 With National Parks, I know I can go back and do those other hikes another day.  With life, the decisions are permanent; there is no going back.  I feel confident, though, that the Lord is helping guide me down the path, and I know that if He's the one leading, the journey will end in an amazing destination.  I also feel confident that when He leads, I won't regret it. Life is good.  Today, I enjoyed the scent of baking cinnamon rolls as I also felt the crisp and cool cleanness of a sky fresh from rain, and I was so grateful for life, for the senses I have to experience life with.  I enjoyed snuggling my baby, I enjoyed reading to my 4 year old, and laughing with him.  I treasured the delight of my 7 year old as she discovered that the tooth fairy had come for her first tooth, and I enjoyed the expression on her 10 year old brother's face, as he tried not to spoil the secret for her.  My 12 year old is such a confident kid, and even though beginning an instrument has it's "ugly" sounds, as I listened to him practice today, I could absolutely hear the difference in his skills compared to a month ago.  I think he can hear it too, and is excited for his own growth and improvement.  I love watching my children experience life, and I particularly adore watching them enjoy their new sister, they are so eager to help and to hold her.  I--I took the one less traveled by, and it has made all the difference.

I've had worse

Lots of people ask how I'm doing, and how the baby is doing.  I feel fabulous, my body is recovering well, I'm having to remind myself not to push too hard, because I feel just fine.  I am sleep deprived, and that makes me feel forgetful and a little headachy.  In the past, I've told people how horrible the first few months can be at times.  Don't get me wrong...snuggling a new baby is an amazing feeling, and I love it, but that zombie-like stupor that settles over me as I continue to run on not enough sleep...it's awful.  It makes it hard to be patient, to think clearly, to function, to even feel like myself.  HOWEVER, I've had a healthy dose of perspective, and so if you ask how I'm doing, I'm still going to tell you that I'm doing great (or awesome or fantastic), and it's true.  Last year, in August and September, I'd wake up feeling sad, overwhelmed, confused, lost, missing my baby, wondering if there was anything else I could have done.  This year in August and September, I wake up feeling like my brain has magically been replaced by oatmeal, responding to a baby who is crying because she needs something, but I am so grateful to have a reason to wake up groggy.  I'm grateful she's here, that she is healthy and wants to eat, that she can pee (YAY for functioning kidneys) and poop (YAY for functioning digestive system) and cry (YAY that her lungs are developed well!!)  I've had worse...so much worse, and so I'm grateful for the tired.

I've had several ideas for blog posts over the last few weeks, but lets face it...when you're exhausted, sleep becomes a much higher priority than many other things.  Showering has taken a back seat some days.  Make up and fancy hair have never been a high priority for me, but even less so at this point.  I am at the point where I will pretty much say "yes" to anyone who offers help, (THANKS to those who have helped clean up, bring in meals, shuttle my kids around for me!!) even though I like to be independent and do everything myself.  My normal "2 hour" screen time limit for my 4 year old has been completely ignored on several days as I've tried to catch up on sleep.  But I've had worse.  I'll take it.

Miriam has been a very wonderful healing balm for my heart and Scott's.  Holding her brings a peace and contentment that I have missed over the last 14 months. 

We still miss Gideon immensely, sometimes more so because of the special moments we are sharing with our new daughter.  We love seeing her smile in her sleep...and wonder what his smile would have looked like.  She has lots of hair, like he did, I often look at her and see a resemblance to her big brother, which pulls on my heart strings.  However, I feel confident that he sent her with hugs and snuggles to share (just like when you visit your Grandma and she says "Give so and so a hug from me" and when you see them, you pass on Grandma's hug).  I'm sure that he wanted her to give us his love, and that he wanted us to feel comfort both from her and from him.  I feel so much peace and joy and love radiating from her.  Even when I'm utterly exhausted, I love looking down and seeing her in my arms. 

My view of a dozy Miriam snuggle.

So 3 weeks in, we're tired, but loving it!