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.