How do you say it

On the way home from a friend's party, Gracie asked me, "Who was the first baby God gave you? Was it Josiah?"

Technically, no, he wasn't. First born, yes. First baby, no. 

The end of October of 1998, we found I was 7-8 weeks along with our first. The doctor wasn't pleased with what he saw on the sono. He had me come back a couple weeks later for another. I sat alone  in that freezing room covered only in a sheet when he came in and coldly reccommended a DNC. I didn't understand. I saw a difference between the two weeks, even a faint heartbeat. So I thought, at least. 

Hurt by that doctor's horrible bedside manner, I made an appointment with another OB highly reccommended by friends. I had to wait to January for my first appointment with him. 

But on December 23, I started bleeding. I called the new dr's office, and they got me in asap. Icy roads had caused lots of cancellations. 

Matt took me to work for a while, then sat with me as the doctor checked me over. It was over. I had had the miscarriage the first doctor expected, it just took longer than he thought. 

The ob said a dnc the next day would be best, lest I hemmorage on Christmas.  He gave us a couple hours to decide. A tearful lunch followed, and we went back to the mall. (I still had a shift to work.). We had decided to make some calls and get some prayer support before deciding. 

When we got to my store, one if those families we were going to call were there. One of those tomes where God's  Hand is evident. They lived far from the mall, and had only come because I worked there. On icy roads, even. 

After crying with them a while, we made more calls. Most importantly to a friend who was an L&D nurse. She seconded the doctor, called him back for us, and set up everything with the hospital as much as she could. 

She was even there before us the next morning, even though it was Christmas Eve, icy, and she had family plans that evening. Our pastor was there early, too, and both sat with Matt a while. When Matt's patents got there- they lived on the north end of town, the pastor led them to the waiting room. 

Truthfully, I have little memory of that day- or the next. I went around in a kind of fog for a month. I remember a couple coming into the store one day just glowing, looking for baby name books. I was happy for them, as much as I could be, as I showed them the only two we had on the shelf and offered to order another. 

They got angry over the small selection, and insisted that I was just not showing them all of the books. They even asked for the manager. In tears, I went to the back room and sputtered out the situation. That was the one time I ever saw him show some backbone. 

I stayed in the back room, on my knees bawling. They told him I was unhelpful, and he told them off. He knew I'd treated them with a smile, even heard me joyfully congratulate them. So he told them I had every reason not to. They left with insincere apology. I recognized them next time, and overdid the cheerfulness, and they avoided me. 

I would walk around the mall wondering why all these girls who didn't want babies had them, but not me. 

I don't know if the baby was a boy or girl. To help me, I gave it a name. Aeryn. 

So no, Gracie, Josiah was not the first baby God gave us. Aeryn was. 

(This is the first time I've written all of this down.). 

Opinions

I went to the store with the littles this morning. As we were checking out, the lady ahead of us stopped, came back, and approached me with an, "I just wanted to tell you..."  

I braced myself, thinking over the past hour. We'd passed this lady in the store several times. Would it be a comment on Grace being in the cart?  Peter's Darth Vader jacket that sometimes covers his face?  Did one of them do something they shouldn't?  Did I?

"I just wanted to tell you these are the best behaved kids I've seen in a long time."  She smiled and tickled Peter.  She said hi to Grace as well, but the little miss put her head down and turned away. I apologized for her shyness, but the lady pointed out that in most cases, at the store, that's a good thing.  

I almost hugged her and felt tears in my eyes. The tension that built so suddenly as she approached was gone. 

On the way home, I thought about it. Why did I brace myself?  I knew they- we- hadn't done anything wrong. I don't think I've had any complaints in public for either of them. (Cuteness helps.) 

But I remember. I remember when Josiah was little, and even not so little. Going to the store when he'd had a full day of school and therapy- so exhausted that anything could trigger a meltdown. Trying to keep him calm in an overwhelming place. Explaining things to him for the millionth time while we both fight tears of frustration. 

He never saw them.  Still doesn't. The looks of disgust and condecension. The huffs of annoyance, the eyerolls. People taking thier kids to another aisle to avoid being around him. The whispers. I still hear them. "What a brat!" "He needs a beating, not a hug!" "Why can't she control him?" "Why are they even out in public?"  The ones who approached me were a little better. Them I could educate a bit. More than once I saw someone start to aporoach us in the parking lot as we left, only to turn away when they saw the Autism Awareness sticker on the car. 

Because he's high functioning, his autism is not as obvious as most.  People are less likely to consider it a possibility, and jump to conclusions. 

So it still makes me defensive when someone approaches my kids and I in the store. With that background, how could I not be?

I'm extremely proud of all three. They really do quite well in public. It can be a challenge, and I may not always agree, but they are little angels. Most of the time. ;). 

Dance it out

To live

 https://youtu.be/DHdkRvEzW84

Me

"I want my Mommy!"  She says it while I'm standing right next to her, sitting in the room with her, or even holding her. 

I know much of it is jealousy, since I'm carrying around baby brother so much. So many times it's after we've had a 'duscussion' about something. (For the 87th time.). 

I started pausing when she says it. Had I lost my temper?  Was I more frustrated over the situation than it called for?  Was I not being the mommy she wanted- needed. Was I not being... me?

I admit, the answer has too often been yes.

We snuggle, we apoligize, we talk calmly, and we go on. Will the same issue happen again?  Maybe. But hopefully Mama will pause too. 

I've lost so much of me the past two years. I have to fight to keep what is left- to not be afraid of it, really. 

The only ones whose opinions truly matter want me- the real me. Need it, even. 

Five minutes.

If only, some days. Five minutes. 

I had a poem in my head two weeks ago. I tried to write it down several times. Even typed up much of it on this app. Then someone needed me and it didn't even get saved. 

It's nice to be needed, but still...

One day I'll have five minutes to do my own thing again...

Pride and worry

Josiah tells me very little about his days at school. And long gone are the days when I got daily teacher reports. 

I know he struggles with some classes, and seldom asks for help. I know kids can be cruel, and he's often oblivious to the nasty words, but sometimes he knows. He hates to tell me anything negative, and often just won't. Most days after school all he'll talk about is Veggie Tales or something of a similar bent- I'm the only one who listens to all of his thoughts on it, and he knows not to go on about it at school, so he's dying to talk about it after school. It makes it near impossible to find out anything about how he's really doing at school. 

Then he recieves an award for "Individual Achievement- leadership and Respect"

I hear at his ARD meetings how much his teachers adore him. Even the teachers in the classes he struggles in gush over how much they love him.  He'll be fine. 

Gracie adores dance. She's always dancing, and now that she's in classes, it's a little more... Intentional. Tuesday mornings are the only ones I don't have to cajole and threaten to get her out of bed.  The worst part of breaking her collarbone in January was having to miss class.  She was careful- specifically so she could dance again quickly. She is a natural performer, and I'm so proud. 

Tuesday I peeked into the studio to find her sitting and crying. She wanted to go home, and listed any excuse she could think of. Everyone there was as confused as I was. She had the same kind of meltdown at church last night- very unusual. I'd been giving her meds for allergies, and those are notorious for throwing her for a loop. Hopefully that's all it is. 

I found out today that my thyroid levels are high again. I should have known. The doctor asked if I'd been anxious lately. Oooh yeah. Thankfully I have some lower dose meds on hand, so I don't have to wait. 

Maybe I can sleep again. ><

Difference

So much change- so much difference. But still so much stays the same. 

Once more I'm fighting to get back to myself- struggling out of the cavern of depression I've found myself in.  Odd how even at my buisiest I manage the time to mope. 

Gracie's loving dance class- dancing all the time! And I'm enjoying the company of other moms again. Her days are filled like mine once were- fantasy rules. Dragons, princesses, and such. She still doesn't eat though, and it's a costant worry for me. She has energy to spare, but for how long?  

Josiah's doing fairly well so far in high school, though in many ways he's more like an 8 year old. Though not many 8 year olds are 6 ft 1.  And the level of stress he carries is more akin to middle age. 

And then there's Peter. Yes, another suprise. I thought I was facing the start of menopause, but instead, at 21 weeks, found I was expecting again. Peter Troy, (Troy being Matt's grandfather- Peter was born on his birthday) is happy, healthy, and a handful. Thankfully he sleeps well- through the night at 3 months-his siblings didn't untill they were 2& 4 years old!

6 days before Peter arrived, we moved into a new house. That was a long hard journey of its own. Best and worst in people really came out, and I'm aftaid some of the bad was me. (Though an anemic 8 month pregnant woman having to live from a suitcase with 2 kids for a week has to be given some grace.) I am still working at getting everything unpacked, organized, and decorated. Most days my to-do list is half everyday chores, and half upgrades. When I even get to finish the list. 

I feel so worn. Missing part of myself, and it's been replaced by something grumpy. 

Change is inevitable. But at the same time, I don't want myself to change- I don't want to loose my free spirit. It's been chained so long, the shackles chafe. But I think once I look again, they are not shackles, but bracers- part of the armor of the warrior mom I am. I'm still standing, and that's a battle won.