Miscarriage Support

 

http://sisterlysecrets.blogspot.com/

Just preparing to be the next star of Toddlers and Tiaras!

I did it!

You guys, I am not crafty.  Like not even a little bit.  Like going to the craft store makes me feel like a lost puppy, or a little girl who needs her mommy (and I seriously wished she was there today to help me.)

BUT, I braved it anyway.  I grabbed my little basket and forged through the unknown territory with fierce determination.  I was going to do it!  And I did! 

I made this!

Isn’t it adorable??!

The best part (well the ONLY part really) is that it’s made out of balloons. 

It’s perfect for Easter and for birthdays (which we have quite a few in the coming months). It’s so bright and fun and cheerful and unusual.  And I just can’t help smiling every time I walk up to my door and THAT makes me so happy. 

*I in no way, shape or form take credit for this idea.  I actually saw it on a friend’s door the other day and fell in love with it.  I thought, “Hey I could DEFINITELY do that.” So I just went for it.  Picked up a straw wreath (kept the plastic on), bought a bajillion balloons at the $0.99 store along with a few hundred pins and voila!

And now I’m entirely crafted out for the rest of the year.

EDIT: Upon further research I have found a site that quite possibly came up with the idea.  Just covering my bases. 

A ma-what?

Just a funny story:

Diva made a maraca at school.  She brought it in the house and Munchkin ooooohed and ahhheeed and said, “Wow it’s sooo pitty!”

Diva, sounding like she belonged on Antiques Roadshow said, “Yes, it’s called a MAR-AC-A.”

And Munchkin, looking confused, asked, “A cracker?”

Diva: “No, a MA-SCRA-CKER.”

I think they’re both confused.

Loving

                       

My “babies.” 1-21-11.

When I first found out about my lost pregnancy, my initial thoughts were, “How am I going to tell my little four year-old? What am I going to say? How will she react?”

More than anything about that experience, those thoughts cut into my heart the deepest.  I was so scared to tell her.  So after a moment where she came to me and rubbed my tummy and gave me a smile, I knew I had to break the news.  I gave her a sound explanation, about how sometimes babies get sick and are sent back to Heavenly Father, about how hopefully the baby will come back and grow big in my tummy, about how everything will be OK but there is no baby in mommy’s stomach anymore.

And then she burst into tears.  It was all I could do to not run out of the room and give up altogether but I held my ground and kept my composure.  I quickly rattled off the same explanation and told her Heavenly Father would take special care of that baby.  She stopped crying, gave me a little laugh and said, “Ok.”  Five minutes later she bounded off to play, completely recovered.  The resiliency of children almost astounds me and I admit I’m a little envious.

I am not the first to experience the heartache of loss and unfortunately I will not be the last.  I find myself feeling silly for wanting to be upset about the whole mess when I think of others I have learned about; the many, many children they have lost, some who have no children at all, others losing babies so close to their due dates and the list goes on.  But then I remember that we are all different, and we all grieve in different ways and it’s perfectly acceptable for me to feel a sense of loneliness and an odd sensation of isolation.  But each day gets better.  Thankfully I have my little girls to distract me, to remind me of the wonderful life I am living with my sweet little family.

I’ve grown closer to friends, some new and some old, connected with others on a whole new level, a level we wish no one would have to reach ever again, yet at the same time are grateful for the others who have reached it before us. 

I can’t even express the gratitude that is mine when friends go out of their way to let us know how much they care. Last night, as I walked up to the doorstep of my home after a great night with friends and loving the feeling of normalcy, I almost stepped on a package.  I brought it into the house and opened it up where I found a delicious box of brownies from some good friends and the note read, “Chocolate makes everything better!”

Oh how true that is!

Life is good!

Say what?

*Apparently I can only handle having my blog seem so depressing, for so long.*

This morning I was getting ready to take Diva to school and she brought this bear to me.  “Mommy, why doesn’t running in the poo have a shirt on?”

“What??!”

And then of course, she repeats herself (which makes her a little agitated) “Why doesn’t RUNNING IN THE POO HAVE A SHIRT ON?!”

“Oh…you mean Winnie the Pooh!”

“Yeah..that’s what I said! Running in the poo!”

 

Not all roses and rainbows

I’ve been having this internal debate.  Do I write this post?  I could write it but not publish it publicly.  I’d like to have my thoughts and feelings down on “paper” for the future and I’m no good at keeping a journal. But is it too personal?

In the end I (obviously) decided to publish it.  For all to see.  I know this is a public blog and I’ve never been one to be embarrassed about things that are completely out of my control.  I’ll talk about it.  It may be hard.  I might become emotional but it feels good to let it out.  It’s therapeutic.  Much like this blog post.  So here goes.

MLK day I had a regular, every four week Dr. appointment with my OB (well, the nurse practitioner really.)  To be honest, I was terrified.  I had been terrified two weeks prior when I went in for my 12 week ultrasound to size and date the pregnancy.  But all was well.  I was so…SO happy and extremely relieved.

Why was I so terrified?  Because I have been pregnant now five times and have two kids.  I miscarried December (‘09), again in June 2010 and here I was due in July, giving myself pep talks just about every.single.day.  I was so miserable because I was sick yet so happy that I was so sick because it meant I was…well…PREGNANT. 

So, back to my appointment.  She pulls out the doppler and begins searching for a heartbeat and can’t find it.  My heart plummeted.  I knew it.  I just knew it. 

I was instructed to go to radiology where they would perform an ultrasound immediately.  But I already knew.  I walked through that hallway in a thick fog.  I didn’t want them to do it. I didn’t want to know. 

The tech spent ten agonizing, SILENT minutes searching for a heartbeat.  I had to remind myself to breathe. 

I finally made it back to the nurse where she told me the news. Up until that point I had not cried because I was still holding onto a tiny shred of hope.  “There is no heartbeat.  Baby stopped growing last week.”

And then the overwhelming feeling of emptiness washed over me.  My husband and girls who were waiting at home, anticipating a trip to the beach, had to alter their plans.  He came to me and held me.  He has been amazing.  I have no idea what I would do without him. 

I was then scheduled for a D&C for the next morning.   I’ll let the curious ones google that procedure on their own.

It has all been very upsetting, to say the least.  But I find myself being so GRATEFUL.  Grateful for my two healthy, adorable, smart, sassy, beautiful, intelligent little girls who can make me laugh, cry or scream all within a few minutes.  Grateful for my husband who has treated me like a queen.  Grateful for my wonderful mother and mother in-law who will drop anything to do anything for us.  Grateful for my friend who immediately called me when finding out and told me she was bringing dinner the next day.  Grateful for health insurance.  Grateful for warm, sunny days to make it all seem much less depressing.  Grateful that my nurses during my procedure had the same names as my sisters so I could think of them and know they were thinking of me.  Grateful for phone calls, for messages, for emails and texts.  Grateful for beautiful flowers from some of my wonderful friends-half of whom I have never met in person (long story.) Grateful for prayers and thoughts.  Grateful for the Gospel.

So really, even though I know I will be sad, and it might take me awhile to recover emotionally, I know that I am blessed.  Beyond blessed.  So many people go through so much more with a much more positive outlook and I aspire to be like them. 

Thank you for all your thoughts, prayers and words of comfort.  It means so, SO much to me. 

 

A magical place

 

                                     

        

 

                     

Telling Papa all about the Princesses.  Adorable.                              What else can I say about this woman?  Love her.  So much!

True, I have shared this on Facebook already but it’s worth sharing again, mostly to rub it in my little sis’s face.  She’s in love. With a married man.  Shame on her.

What I hear…

“Where does poop and pee come from?”

“Why do we have holes in our noses?”

“Mommies have big boobies and daddies have small boobies.” (said while caressing daddy’s chest)

“Can I still be your daughter when I’m a mommy?'”

“Does your baby like ice cream?”

“Did daddy get on his knees and tell you to marry him?”

“I wish I had a fairy living in my room.”

“Can I go swimming?”

“Does your baby like noodles?”

“I want a baby brother named Kyle.”

-Diva

Pier

Yesterday we enjoyed a trip to the Manhattan Beach Pier. Before that we also enjoyed some delicious Café Rio (no, I won’t even mention that I also went there the day before, with just Munchkin, while Diva was at school.)

It was surprisingly clear and not too cold.  I wouldn’t mind living there.  Not one little bit.

We had some cute cousins for company.

This “little” guy is nine months old.  He is so darn adorable I can’t handle it.  And he’s also bigger than Munchkin, in height AND weight.  It’s hilarious.  His daddy has big plans for his future, most of it involving football. 

“What the heck are you looking at?!”

I can just picture her thoughts here.  Something involving Ariel, the ocean, mermaids, Prince Eric.

 

 

Little Munchkin.  Little daredevil.  Yes, she attempted to climb to the top rung of those railings. Yes, she gave us heart attacks.

Presh.

Not myself

I think I’ve professed my love of cookies once or twice or three times on this blog.

But I haven’t made a single batch in about seven weeks.  I just haven’t been myself.

I’ve been too busy puking.

Too busy sleeping (or anticipating the next moment when I can crawl back into bed.)

Too busy side-stepping four year-old concerns about why mommy is so goshdarn SICK all of the time.

But now she knows, and now you know too…

Baby Bingham #3 will be in my arms at the end of July.

I couldn’t be happier.

Chilly

 

It’s snowing outside.  Which is weird, living in Southern CA.  It’s a wet, slushy snow but it’s there and my girls are beside themselves with excitement.

And to think…three days ago we drove them up to the nearest mountain to go sledding. 

 

She didn’t have adequate snow boots and after about an hour the complaints started. “My feet are cold Mommy!” Poor thing.

But she did have fun.