Irreverent Eloquence

In the lonely office there was a laptop  and a mom and photos of others' babies on Facebook. And there were three new birth posts And two pregnancy announcements  and an instagram of a growing son and a smiling dad.  And a due date and a belly and all the news is worth telling And a silent sad mom whose heart is now Yelling, Good night office, good night laptop.  Goodnight photos on Facebook. Goodnight birth posts and stories. Goodnight father. Goodnight son. Goodnight due dates. Goodnight cute bellies.  Goodnight news so worthy of telling.  Take a breath sad mommy, stop your heart from yelling.  Remember now to let out that air.  Say Good night to all happy mamas everywhere. 

My "Holiday Party" look (never mind the hair and lack of makeup). January 23, 2014. I can tell you the Happiest Day of My Life so far. I could mark it on a calendar for you if you'd like. Show you in black and white, circle it in red with a bold stroke. I recognized it as a superbly happy day then, felt like I was close to the summit of a mountain I had failed to claim before, failed more than once, making this time "The One". I could taste the cold, thin air of that night, stinging but refreshing as I pulled the shopping bag out of the back of my car. I was a flutter with excitement and couldn't wait to share. At more than 37weeks pregnant with Griffin, I was on top of the world. I had taken my daughters shopping the day before for a dress, succeeding in finding the perfect little black number for a date I had never hoped to make. Aksel's holiday work party is an event we look forward to every year, a time when we don't mind find...

This is a very personal post and though not gory, it discusses reproduction and loss, and of course, Blood. Please stop now if you'd prefer not to be exposed to anything of that nature.  October 2007       For the last six years of my life I have been waiting for Blood. Seems strange to phrase it that way but like clockwork, Blood flowed into my life every month until we started having children. Before our first daughter was conceived, Blood was predictable, down to the day thanks to modern hormonal medicines. And Blood was a trusty companion, never late or missing her mark. One month, though, we thought we were ready and ended the prevention, and found we were easily pregnant with Baby #1.  That pregnancy flew by and a little early and much too quickly our daughter was born, followed by my old friend Blood. The afterbirth was messy and unexpected (I'm well read but firsthand knowledge was eye opening!). It was not a scary visit, though profuse ...

I have a confession: I eat raw cookie dough. I let my kids eat it too. Terrible isn't it?  It's dangerous you know.  It harbors all kinds of scary bugs in its deliciousness. Specifically E.coli and Salmonella. I should really stop doing it. I should prevent my kids from ever doing that too right? What could happen to them if they got sick from that one bite of sweetness that floats memories straight to their brains is too much for me to handle.         I don't gate our stairs at home. I never have. All my kids and both my husband and I have fallen down the stairs. I really should do something about them. They're dangerous. Hard with their wooden treads, they are an accident just one slippery sock away from happening. I let the girls ride bikes in the cul-de-sac. Most of the time while wearing their helmets and me watching... Though sometimes they don't get the helmet on properly or right away. And sometimes I am in the house, peeking on the...

This is supposed to be an angry, vengeful post. A 'shove it up your rear you B' kinda rant. I've been saving this one for a day when my ire was raised high enough, when the fits of passion and fire raged within me and this could be my outlet.        Today isn't that day though. And it turns out, as much as I want to burn you, my old friend, this post probably won't be ablaze with hate.         Insight hit me tonight in the most unlikely place and a parallel ran in my mind to you. So I'll tell you all about it in the hope that putting my life in words and all my thoughts about our friendship's end in perspective, will help me gain some much needed peace. It started innocently enough. Yours was the last condolence card that came in the mail. Ironic it was, as I saw it at the time, a supportive card that absolutely was not. I read it just once. And then I threw up. The blame in those words made me so sick I couldn't contain it any longer...

This is a throwback Thursday post for me with an update/edit.  I want to acknowledge that after everything my family and I have been through this last year and some odd months we have appreciated every single one of you that has sat with us in our moments of difficulty and everyone that has held space with us for our grief. I read this blog post from another loss mom prior to giving birth to Henry. It is so fitting that I feel I need to share it with all of you.  What a new mom to a baby after loss wants her friends and family to know. I am continuing on a bit of an emotional roller coaster these days and I value still the one on one time I have gotten after Henry's traumatic arrival. Thank you, thank you, to those individuals that have watched our girls and made us meals, taken us out for a break, fielded an emotional text or phone call, and even those whose prayers have supported us from a distance! I have no doubt that when I return to work in a few week...

February 28, 2014        I set the scene early in the morning, primed myself for drama. Aksel was moving slowly, having dropped off our oldest at school and come back home to me. The plan was for him to head to work, to drive to Rochester and pick up the other two girls later. He was leaving me for the day, for the weekend, alone. Maybe I was armoring myself, amping up to be ready for the loneliness that was stalking me. Maybe I was running on crazy hormones...either way, I was bristling. I had the day outlined in my head, and now here he was, in my space, mucking up the script.         I got short with him as he made breakfast for both of us, huffy when he was trying to be chatty while getting dressed. I sat inwardly fuming, quiet but on guard, waiting for him to hit the road. I could tell he didn't want to leave. He stalled, doubled back for another kiss, said his goodbyes more than once. I shooed out then and listen for the door to...

       I walk into the house, without my husband and girls tonight. I step into the dark entry, weighty in its silence and it seems empty, but I am not alone. "Hello the house!" I smile, turning on the little lamp in the living room, its glow dim but already warming the space like a sunrise, illuminating the shelf where my little man waits.       Griffin's box hasn't moved, his photo remains next to his sisters, perched high enough to catch our gaze when we  wake and step downstairs every morning, when we come home from a day away, and especially when we're spending quality time with family. He is here, to be part of our lives everyday in what small physical way he can.         He doesn't wait here at home for me though in anything more than that box. In spirit, I strap him in for the ride to work in the morning, leaving him for short stretches in the backseat of my mind as I listen to songs on the radio or cat...

I'm not myself these days. Will I ever be again? I've tried to catch some "selfies" in the mirrors around my house, thinking that maybe I'll capture a glimpse of her, the old me, lurking there.  In the beginning of the "after" I could not bear to look at the reflection. Something in those haunted eyes would always startle me and there was a hollowness that sapped the soul...In the "before" I could peek into any mirror anywhere, a quick view into a looking glass for a hair touch-up, makeup application, or wedgie check was not even a thought.  These selfies make the looking easier. I can analyze the faked smile, practice and work on the sad eyes, like I would work on choosing the perfect outfit. In truth, the seeing myself itself is getting easier. Months it has taken, to simply see my own face without beginning to cry. But I am well versed now at putting the face on to go out into the world, so my tolerance for this new me is a bit ...

     I've reached my "goal" weight set years ago after my first baby. Twenty pounds lighter than pre-pregnancy weight with my 4th child, I should be so thrilled. Yet here I stand in front of the mirror, holding my breath to evaluate myself.        I see the stretch marks and surgical incisions, healed and no longer angry red as they were not more than a few weeks before. I force myself to touch the lines that grew up my belly as my son grew to full term. My daughters marked me so minimally in the years gone by. With my oldest, she set those squiggles on my sides, barely pulling me taut on top as she was carried low and born early at thirty-one weeks. With my second and third daughters also born prematurely, I added a few vertical stripes and those two fine white scalpel lines that quickly faded from my skin, but were etched into my heart and memory forever like raw razor cuts.        My son though, did the number on me. In the l...

Baby loss, stillbirth, miscarriage. The name we put on it doesn't matter, in the world of women it can still be a difficult subject yet the loss touches so many of us. If you can't say you know a woman who has lost a child or a pregnancy, you may not know a woman. It's common but not a common place topic of discussion. And why not? Women are not quiet creatures, we are prone to complaining and over-sharing, being emotional and hormonal just adding fuel to the fire. Is Grief something we have been taught to hide then? Or just this particular type of Grief? In the generations of women that have come before us, babies have died before their time, just as they do to this day. Death has always been a part of birth. In my generation, it is more "socially acceptable" to discuss the death and its subsequent Grief (and even if it wasn't you couldn't stop me from bringing it up). I'm finding though, in being consoled by the women in my life, that the acknowl...

It wasn't the change in the weather that proved it. It wasn't the warm wind, melted snow and greening growth in the yard that showed me. It wasn't the sunshine lighting the night, quietly convincing the girls that it is too early to go to sleep. Something simple, something silly, Griffin, whispered to me that the season had changed. Your dad took down the lights on the house, the Christmas lights. Yes, in April, a little later this year than previous maybe, because of the cold and snow and maybe because of you. It was time. The house is ready for the change. The living room is yearning to throw open the windows and air out the false heat the furnace blows. The doors are yawning open throughout the day, lazily closing (or not) behind those sisters of yours that are finally out to play. The family dinner table on the deck has been inching its way back to the center, begging to host a dinner and the loungers on the patio are winking at sunset, positioned comfortably them...

Honestly is there a story-line that won't break my heart?        I was immune to princesses and pink and really all things Disney for a long time. After having 3 girls, my tolerance for sappy romance with all its song and dance is very high. One would think then that there is no problem with the girls' request to turn on a princess movie.        Tangled was the most recent. Seems like a no-brainer: a brief window of opportunity where 3 girls are entranced by Rapunzel while their Dad and I get a few stolen moments together alone. What could possibly go wrong? Somehow, in the commercial breaks that happen on real tv, (whose idea was it again to get cable and move away from Netflix? *Sigh*) Aksel and I find ourselves parked in the middle of our girls, policing a minor dispute that has broken out. When the commercial break has ended, and mutiny truced, we are trapped in a snuggle-fest on our respective couches and chairs, anchored by the weight of s...

Music has always been an enjoyment in my life. For a while after Griffin died I could not find solace in it, could not find that part of my voice. In a previous post I talked about my "blogger voice," that inner passion that I thought I'd lost but quickly found still existed. It took me longer to get back the other part of my passion, my "singing voice."         Don't get all excited and think there is some great opera diva in these pipes. No, no, I'm not formally trained. I have just loved and always been able to identify with music. I'm sure you can say the same. Turn on the radio in the car and crank it up when the mood strikes, roll down the window and throw your arms around, dancing in the feel-good rhythm. Maybe a song can take you for a stroll, pull you into the past and into a fond memory, let the years roll back and remember just like you were there again.       I was pulled into music in the brief interlude before Griffin's memorial, ...

There are so many things you may hear around our home, what with 3 young girls running about. At any given time you might catch one or the other of us parents chiding our children about the messes in their rooms, the papers strewn about on the floor, the door left open. In the everyday moments of life, how mundane these comments are. Charlotte has surely heard hundreds of times,"Please bring me your kit," when we are attempting to get her blood sugar. And Eden,"Those are tights, not pants, please put a skirt on or change your bottoms," when she is dressing in the morning. Gretchen must get asked, "Do you want help or have you got it?" a dozen times daily. But there are a few things we have caught ourselves saying to the kids that might seem strange if you heard them out of context. "Don't lick your sister, you are not a dog," or the ever popular but thankfully infrequently needed,"Did someone really poop in the tub or is that potty t...

Any good nurse will tell you that the easiest way to stay healthy is to use preventive medicine. One of the best methods for this is vaccination.  According to the Public Health Agency of Canada (sorry the US version was lengthy and obnoxious) here's how vaccines work: Most vaccines contain a little bit of a disease germ that is weak or dead. Vaccines do NOT contain the type of germ that makes you sick. Some vaccines do not contain any germs. Having this little bit of the germ inside your body makes your body's defence system build  antibodies  to fight off this kind of germ. Antibodies help trap and kill germs that could lead to disease. Your body can make antibodies in two ways: by getting the disease or by getting the vaccine. Getting the vaccine is a much safer way to make antibodies without having the suffering of the disease itself and the risk of becoming disabled or even dying. Antibodies stay with you for a long time. They remember how to fight off the ...