I've heard it said that nothing quite prepares you for being a parent. Is that ever true.
My son, Shae Ferdinand Jase Bowen was born at 2:27 a.m. on Jan. 19, 2012. He was just a wee guy, only 5 lb, 6 oz. Now at five weeks old and weighing close to 9 lb., I can't imagine if he had been bigger! But he sure plans to be a big boy it would seem by his dramatic weight gain. And with big growth, it should only make sense that there are some big changes happening in his little body that are giving him a great deal of trouble in the sleep department.
Up til four weeks, I had what is called an "Angel" baby. My friend Amanda refers to them as slugs because all they do for the first bit is sleep, eat and poop. The frequent feedings at night were plenty to keep me fatigued on the best of days. But then we hit week four and things changed. My Angel baby has trouble staying asleep longer than 30 minutes! I blame myself. You see, I introduced "the pacifier" to him this last week in the attempt of getting a little routine going. I read in a book that you want to enable babies to develop their own self-soothing mechanism. If you normally send them to dreamland via the breast, they're always going to need that boob to get to sleep. So the solution? If they've already had their feeding and they aren't sleeping yet, instead of popping the boob into their anxious to "suck their way to dreamland" little mouth, give them the pacifier. Because the theory is that they'll suck enthusiastically for six or so minutes and fade off and the soother will fall out before they become comatose. Eventually, they won't even need it to fall asleep. Sounds good right? Well somewhere along the way, that logic backfired or I misapplied it, but Shae can't keep the soother in his mouth oftentimes for more than a minute at which point he fusses for it or my boob. So what does Mommy do? Gotta help the poor little man so she puts it back in his eager mouth and eventually, he would pop it out and sleep away. At least for the first two or three days... Now, the soother holds a power over my little boy's mind. Without it, there is no peace, no sleep, no ease, neither for him or Mommy. The result is this: when he does finally drift off after what is usually at least an hour of dedicated watching and saying "shhhhhh, shhhhh," he wakes up after 20-30 minutes, realizing his soother is gone!
As you can imagine, nap time has become an all day, all encompassing task in which both Mother and baby get more and more frustrated. My poor Shae gets more and more overtired and I get more and more frustrated and anxious.
Oh and that routine I was trying to put him on? Help him to sleep in his own bed, persevere, use key words to lull him to sleep, we'll have to get back to that in a month or so. For now, I just need him to sleep period, I don't care anymore where or how for the time being.
Sunday, February 26, 2012
Monday, January 9, 2012
Count down
Tomorrow marks one week until my little guy is said to make his entrance into this world. It's a new year with many new challenges and joys to be had.
I sometimes find it rather incredulous how I am about to have my second child in under 12 months. I was pregnant this time last year. In fact, besides the fact that I had about seven weeks between pregnancies, I've been preganant for almost a year and a half. I am very much anticipating having a flat belly again and being able to drink red wine.
Being the new year, I suppose it is in order to evaluate the year past. When I was out walking with two good friends of mine on Pender the other day, I tried to draw a conclusion on how 2011 was for me. My friend Amanda was able to say without restraint that it was the worst year of her life. This is in lieu of her daughter Gabrielle being born with a heart defect and spending the year in and out of hospitals with multiple surgeries and monitoring. My friend remarked to me that it must have been the worst year for me as well. And here's where I struggled to sum it up but I think I can now summize how I feel about 2011.
The worst thing of my life did happen in 2011. Even now, the thought of those first few agonizing days, weeks and months sends my nerves into a state of trembling grief and my throat tightens while I swallow the cry that wants to escape. That being said, I've found myself able to be happy and full of plans for the future again, especially in recent months. I think that the coming of our baby boy has given me something to nurture and look forward to. Instead of living every day only able to think about what my Shaely would be learning how to do now, I find myself also thinking about what this little man will be like. He is such a rambunctious one already. I sense he has a spirit of joy and zest for the life he is about to begin in this world. That day is not too far off, a week tomorrow is the expected due date so hopefully the little man won't keep us waiting too long.
So in short, 2011 saw a piece of me broken and the absolute lowest I have ever been. It also brought me hope of healing and a little boy to love. Because even though I lost my little girl whom I was so excited to love and nurture in her growing-up years, that need to love and nurture didn't leave with her. My heart is still broken for those years I will never have with her.
Little man, you have been a healer to us. You have given us incentive to not let ourselves drown in the ocean of grief that engulfed us when we lost your sister. You have given us much to be excited for and look forward to. We can't wait to give you all our love and devotion. See you very, very soon!
I sometimes find it rather incredulous how I am about to have my second child in under 12 months. I was pregnant this time last year. In fact, besides the fact that I had about seven weeks between pregnancies, I've been preganant for almost a year and a half. I am very much anticipating having a flat belly again and being able to drink red wine.
Being the new year, I suppose it is in order to evaluate the year past. When I was out walking with two good friends of mine on Pender the other day, I tried to draw a conclusion on how 2011 was for me. My friend Amanda was able to say without restraint that it was the worst year of her life. This is in lieu of her daughter Gabrielle being born with a heart defect and spending the year in and out of hospitals with multiple surgeries and monitoring. My friend remarked to me that it must have been the worst year for me as well. And here's where I struggled to sum it up but I think I can now summize how I feel about 2011.
The worst thing of my life did happen in 2011. Even now, the thought of those first few agonizing days, weeks and months sends my nerves into a state of trembling grief and my throat tightens while I swallow the cry that wants to escape. That being said, I've found myself able to be happy and full of plans for the future again, especially in recent months. I think that the coming of our baby boy has given me something to nurture and look forward to. Instead of living every day only able to think about what my Shaely would be learning how to do now, I find myself also thinking about what this little man will be like. He is such a rambunctious one already. I sense he has a spirit of joy and zest for the life he is about to begin in this world. That day is not too far off, a week tomorrow is the expected due date so hopefully the little man won't keep us waiting too long.
So in short, 2011 saw a piece of me broken and the absolute lowest I have ever been. It also brought me hope of healing and a little boy to love. Because even though I lost my little girl whom I was so excited to love and nurture in her growing-up years, that need to love and nurture didn't leave with her. My heart is still broken for those years I will never have with her.
Little man, you have been a healer to us. You have given us incentive to not let ourselves drown in the ocean of grief that engulfed us when we lost your sister. You have given us much to be excited for and look forward to. We can't wait to give you all our love and devotion. See you very, very soon!
Thursday, August 18, 2011
Flutterings
August is now coming down to its last week. The days have been warm and sunny lately but the nights are chilly still. Yesterday, I learned that some people I know on my island are facing a tradgedy of nightmarish perportions. Their son has tumour that is believed to cancerous. Their son is not even two years old. I asked myself when I heard, how? They got their healthy baby but now, they are so close to losing him. My heart breaks for them.
The past several months, I have pulled away from God. I haven't been able to bring myself to pray for the new life in me. I can't get past that I prayed everyday for Shaely, and I still lost her. Why would I pray to a God that doesn't answer such an important prayer? The prayer for a healthy baby. And now, this - another family facing the most gut wrenching news of their lives. My baby died, theirs didn't, but now they are facing that horrible possibilty. I'm finding it hard to put into words what this is doing to me. I guess its something to do with God. I think its maybe because their baby is still alive and I want so much for him to make it. And doctors and medicine can only do so much and then there are miracles. That baby needs a miracle, his parents need a miracle. And I still believe in miracles. I don't understand why they happen to some and not others or at certain times and not others, but what else is their to hold on to? What else can I offer those parents? To refuse to pray for them would almost be like refusing to offer up that hope that their little boy will make it - because I'm too stubborn to put aside my anger with God for taking my baby.
I looked at the picture of Shaely on here today for the first time in months. It always amazes me how beautifully formed she was. It breaks my heart to look at her sweet face and little chest. A few months back, I found out I was pregnant again. It sent me into a bit of a panicked depression. It was at that point that I realized that I had to give this baby a chance - a chance for the same happy dwelling that Shaely had. I had to take Shaely's things, her picture, her blanket, her footprints, and put them in the other room. I had to make a decision to not let myself wallow in the pit. It almost felt wrong, like I was pushing her out of my life. But some time has passed, and I'm beginning to realize more that my little girl is and will always be close to my heart. I have her birthstone hanging around my neck. A friend named Rachel gave it to us and I almost feel like she is with me when I wear it. It brings me more comfort than sadness.
So in conclusion, I still ache inside for my Shaely but I try to give this new baby inside everything that I gave Shaely. See you in January little guy.
The past several months, I have pulled away from God. I haven't been able to bring myself to pray for the new life in me. I can't get past that I prayed everyday for Shaely, and I still lost her. Why would I pray to a God that doesn't answer such an important prayer? The prayer for a healthy baby. And now, this - another family facing the most gut wrenching news of their lives. My baby died, theirs didn't, but now they are facing that horrible possibilty. I'm finding it hard to put into words what this is doing to me. I guess its something to do with God. I think its maybe because their baby is still alive and I want so much for him to make it. And doctors and medicine can only do so much and then there are miracles. That baby needs a miracle, his parents need a miracle. And I still believe in miracles. I don't understand why they happen to some and not others or at certain times and not others, but what else is their to hold on to? What else can I offer those parents? To refuse to pray for them would almost be like refusing to offer up that hope that their little boy will make it - because I'm too stubborn to put aside my anger with God for taking my baby.
I looked at the picture of Shaely on here today for the first time in months. It always amazes me how beautifully formed she was. It breaks my heart to look at her sweet face and little chest. A few months back, I found out I was pregnant again. It sent me into a bit of a panicked depression. It was at that point that I realized that I had to give this baby a chance - a chance for the same happy dwelling that Shaely had. I had to take Shaely's things, her picture, her blanket, her footprints, and put them in the other room. I had to make a decision to not let myself wallow in the pit. It almost felt wrong, like I was pushing her out of my life. But some time has passed, and I'm beginning to realize more that my little girl is and will always be close to my heart. I have her birthstone hanging around my neck. A friend named Rachel gave it to us and I almost feel like she is with me when I wear it. It brings me more comfort than sadness.
So in conclusion, I still ache inside for my Shaely but I try to give this new baby inside everything that I gave Shaely. See you in January little guy.
Thursday, June 9, 2011
Thursday, May 19, 2011
Expulsion
It was been 11 weeks and one day. The season of daffadils signally that it is spring has passed and the scent of summer is in the air today. I'm learning how to live in joy again. I almost feel "normal." Jesse's plumbing business is busier than it has ever been, I'm working part-time in the office at the island's gas station and soon will be working the til at Home Hardware. There's much to keep my brain occupied and I'm thankful for that because without fail, when left to my own devices, my thoughts drift back to my daughter and being pregnant with her. I have felt the deepest that I can feel. Grief to me is expelling the pain that lies deep within you. It is letting yourself feel the intensity of realizing what you've lost. And there is so much that is lost, so much that is no longer a part of your everyday. I have reached the bottom of the pit and I have wallowed there. While I am getting better at climbing out to face life's everyday demands and challenges, I so easily slip back in and down the slope to the bed of tears awaiting. When people ask how am I doing, I don't really know what to tell them. It doesn't hurt less but I don't visit those memories as much.
So this update is simply to expell some more grief and try to make sense of where I am. I still haven't quite figured it out but I'll write more later in the hopes of more clarity.
So this update is simply to expell some more grief and try to make sense of where I am. I still haven't quite figured it out but I'll write more later in the hopes of more clarity.
Thursday, April 21, 2011
Closing a chapter
April 21st - the day my baby was predicted to enter this world. Up to this point, I have been living with the haunting fact that technically, I should still be pregnant. And even for days after this due date, I still could have been had things unfolded differently...
The sun is shining today. A beautiful day for a birth day. This is the day I might have heard my daughter's voice and thus begin the days and nights of mothering.
This day has been looming on my horizons ever since the knowledge of my absent daughter beset me. These last few days have passed in apprehension. What could this day mean? Perhaps a turning of a page and the closing of one season of grief to give way to another? I've imagined that this day would mark for me the end of the haunting knowledge that I should still be x number of weeks pregnant.
A father's grief is different from a mother's. While I had the beautiful opportunity to feel our daughter move in me and respond to me, Jesse wasn't able to make that same connection. As a result, there is a mystery surrounding what fatherhood could have been like for him and Shaely. Nonetheless, he was a good daddy to her. He would sing to her and tap three-two clava pattern on my belly. She knew his voice and the sound of it made her happy. Somebody told me several weeks ago that we could take some comfort in knowing that our daughter had a happy dwelling inside me - void of things that would harm her whether emotional or tangible. It both breaks my heart and comforts me to know that our daughter was happy and alive in me.
This day is a turning of a page. How do I turn that page? It is by doing seemingly simple things such as taking down and reading each condolences card we have received. These cards have served as a memorial to my baby. In taking them down, I am letting go a little bit to the sorrow that has bound me from moving forward. They have, in a way, kept me suspended in the state in which I was first told of my daughter's passing. Moving forward doesn't mean forgetting. To me, it means allowing life to enrich me again, allowing hope to rise. I must do this for Jesse and I and for Shaely.
The sun is shining today. A beautiful day for a birth day. This is the day I might have heard my daughter's voice and thus begin the days and nights of mothering.
This day has been looming on my horizons ever since the knowledge of my absent daughter beset me. These last few days have passed in apprehension. What could this day mean? Perhaps a turning of a page and the closing of one season of grief to give way to another? I've imagined that this day would mark for me the end of the haunting knowledge that I should still be x number of weeks pregnant.
A father's grief is different from a mother's. While I had the beautiful opportunity to feel our daughter move in me and respond to me, Jesse wasn't able to make that same connection. As a result, there is a mystery surrounding what fatherhood could have been like for him and Shaely. Nonetheless, he was a good daddy to her. He would sing to her and tap three-two clava pattern on my belly. She knew his voice and the sound of it made her happy. Somebody told me several weeks ago that we could take some comfort in knowing that our daughter had a happy dwelling inside me - void of things that would harm her whether emotional or tangible. It both breaks my heart and comforts me to know that our daughter was happy and alive in me.
This day is a turning of a page. How do I turn that page? It is by doing seemingly simple things such as taking down and reading each condolences card we have received. These cards have served as a memorial to my baby. In taking them down, I am letting go a little bit to the sorrow that has bound me from moving forward. They have, in a way, kept me suspended in the state in which I was first told of my daughter's passing. Moving forward doesn't mean forgetting. To me, it means allowing life to enrich me again, allowing hope to rise. I must do this for Jesse and I and for Shaely.
Sunday, April 10, 2011
Without reason?
It's been almost six weeks now. I'm still supposed to be about 38 weeks pregnant - there's a mind screwer. What to say about where I am now? Depends on the day...who I run into, what I read on facebook, where I am... perspective is saving me a lot these days. Perspective that I'm not the first person this has happened to and perspective that I have friends who have experienced worse. This is a part of my story, my life's journey. People before me have overcome their tragedies and heartache. It never fully leaves, but they learn to live again - to hope again and be truly happy again.
But then there are days...
... like today, where perspective dissolves in my angry tears. How is it that people pop out babies who will never grow up with two loving parents and instead might have to learn to love one "dad" after another. How is it that some mothers give birth to living, breathing children despite living decaying lifestyles corroded with bad eating habits and even drug and alcohol use? And how is it that they keep having these babies and we don't get even the chance to hear ours use her lungs?
I know God sees the full picture. I just wish he would give me a glimpse at what the picture is though. Because, although I cling to the belief that my baby didn't make it for a reason and that my husband couldn't be there when it happened, I find myself desperately seeking for answers and something to rest my sorrows in. It'll always hurt - but can it not be for me wondering if this happened for no better reason than to challenge me and test my faith? Must something so painful happen for one to prove their faith? Maybe it's not even about me and Jess though. But if that's the case, who is it about? Is it someone I'll meet five or more years up the road who will suffer the same loss and I'll be there to cry with them? Somehow, that doesn't comfort me right now. I must sound terribly ungrateful for those who have cried with me and suffered a similar loss. But I just feel that while I have felt understood by those who have felt the pain in loosing a child, my pain hasn't been lessened by their tears. Nothing, I think, but time and faith can help one to slowly heal this wound. Is there more to it than this? And if so, what is it? I want so much to have something I can lay reason with. I feel haunted by thoughts of my baby dying because of some negligence either on my part or outside forces. Was I ever in control or has God been overseeing the course of events and weaving a plan in the midst of it?
So many questions...they catch in my throat and take my breath away. I feel like I'll never be able to lay my baby to rest. She's what I think about when I wake up in the morning as I clutch the purple quilt she was wrapped in. Will I ever be able to think about her and feel at peace? I know she is at peace, but I am tormented by what went wrong that my daughter should not be here in my arms with me today.
But then there are days...
... like today, where perspective dissolves in my angry tears. How is it that people pop out babies who will never grow up with two loving parents and instead might have to learn to love one "dad" after another. How is it that some mothers give birth to living, breathing children despite living decaying lifestyles corroded with bad eating habits and even drug and alcohol use? And how is it that they keep having these babies and we don't get even the chance to hear ours use her lungs?
I know God sees the full picture. I just wish he would give me a glimpse at what the picture is though. Because, although I cling to the belief that my baby didn't make it for a reason and that my husband couldn't be there when it happened, I find myself desperately seeking for answers and something to rest my sorrows in. It'll always hurt - but can it not be for me wondering if this happened for no better reason than to challenge me and test my faith? Must something so painful happen for one to prove their faith? Maybe it's not even about me and Jess though. But if that's the case, who is it about? Is it someone I'll meet five or more years up the road who will suffer the same loss and I'll be there to cry with them? Somehow, that doesn't comfort me right now. I must sound terribly ungrateful for those who have cried with me and suffered a similar loss. But I just feel that while I have felt understood by those who have felt the pain in loosing a child, my pain hasn't been lessened by their tears. Nothing, I think, but time and faith can help one to slowly heal this wound. Is there more to it than this? And if so, what is it? I want so much to have something I can lay reason with. I feel haunted by thoughts of my baby dying because of some negligence either on my part or outside forces. Was I ever in control or has God been overseeing the course of events and weaving a plan in the midst of it?
So many questions...they catch in my throat and take my breath away. I feel like I'll never be able to lay my baby to rest. She's what I think about when I wake up in the morning as I clutch the purple quilt she was wrapped in. Will I ever be able to think about her and feel at peace? I know she is at peace, but I am tormented by what went wrong that my daughter should not be here in my arms with me today.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)