Parenting for Real, Not for Show

 I've been thinking for quite some time about getting a Twitter account and Facebook page for The Mothering Daze.  Not that I expect it to go viral or anything; I'm not THAT interesting.  I just want to put my experiences with autistic children (and life in general) out there in case it helps anyone.  One of the things stopping me is that I don't have any sort of logo or background banner.

Yesterday I asked Rowan (12) if he could make one for me.  He did!  --On Microsoft Paint, so its quality is questionable, but I still love it.  It sort of embodies my life.  Anyway, while he worked on that I busied myself with creating accounts for myself.

Enter Henry (9):  "Mama, will you play Multiplication Splat! with me?"

"Not right now, honey," I replied, still working.  Type, type, type.  Look at Rowan's design.  Revise.  More typing.

Henry again:  "Will you play Multiplication Splat! with me?"

It suddenly occurred to me what I was doing.  There I was, being all lofty and wanting to spread my words to everyone about what a fantastic job I was doing with parenting, and I was putting off my own child, right there in front of me, just wanting to play a game.

Rowan and I stopped what we were doing.  We went to the table and played the game.  And it was FUN!  Rowan said it's his new favorite.  Henry won both rounds.

It's no secret that I struggle with depression.  Depression has a nasty way of making me close off from people and try to hide in my own space.  Obviously I can't really get away from my children, because they can't be left alone, so for me it looks like sitting in my chair with a book or my phone.  I make plans to clean my house or do fun things, but any slight interruption or deviation causes me to abandon everything.

I think the start of school has been really good for both my children and me.  We've been forced to get on a regular sleeping/waking schedule.  They are with friends and good teachers, and I am given the space I need to unwind.  Well, except that I've been exceedingly busy helping plan a complete kitchen redesign.  But I'm planning it with ADULTS, which means my constant awareness of my children can be put on pause.

And so I've been gradually emerging from my self-imposed isolation.  I emptied a box and donated the contents.  I mopped my floor.  I played a card game with my sons.  And this morning I snuggled Henry in my armchair, cuddling him for a good ten minutes longer than was strictly safe for getting him to school on time.

One day at a time.  One step forward, then another.

Coping With Loss

CW:  miscarriage, child loss 

Tragic and unsettling events drive me to write.  I love writing--really, I do--but it seems like life gets so busy that I don't think about making time for it.  And then life knocks me sideways, and I suddenly have to make sense of everything by writing it down.

For those who don't already know, early Tuesday morning I had a miscarriage--my second.  The first was nine years ago.  I hadn't actually planned to get pregnant.  I had the Paragard IUD, which had been working beautifully for a little over eight years.  Apparently over time it migrated to my cervical canal, leaving my uterus wide open for a resident.  January 19 I took a test and confirmed that I was, in fact, pregnant.

Unplanned is not the same as unwanted.  As unexpected as the news was, we greeted it with joy, and started looking at baby clothes and furniture.  We kept it quiet, remembering the last pregnancy.  Family and close friends soon found out, because we couldn't hide my terrible morning sickness.  We checked in often with my obstetrician and had three ultrasounds within six weeks, to make sure everything was going well.

Monday morning I had very light spotting.  It had happened once before and turned out to be nothing serious, so I figured I would wait and talk to my doctor at our appointment Wednesday.  Monday evening it was just a little more.  Only a little.  But I felt sharp cramping in my lower back.  I lay down and stayed there for hours, whimpering with the pain.

Matthew works swing shift, and he got home about 2:00 in the morning.  He ate dinner, and got in the shower about 3:30.  He had barely been in a few minutes when I felt something shift inside me.  The pain lessened and I felt blood flow out of my body.  I called Matthew and said, "I need you out here RIGHT NOW."

Matthew called 911 and I called my mom.  I don't need to describe the ambulance ride or the hospital.  I can say with complete honesty that the EMTs and the hospital staff were all so lovely, warm and kind.  I am so, so incredibly thankful for medical professionals who show such care to their patients.  They asked if I wanted to see my baby, and this time I said yes.  They had laid my baby in a soft, satiny purple box with a white ribbon.  I saw perfectly formed little arms and legs.  Only twelve weeks along, so I don't know if it was a boy or a girl, but that didn't matter.  It gave closure, and a sense of reality, that I hadn't just imagined being pregnant.

I'm doing okay.  My best friend came to stay about two weeks ago, to take care of my children while I spent my time vomiting and lying down.  Now she's staying to help through the recovery.  My lovely family and friends have offered to bring meals.  One plans to take my boys out tomorrow morning.

As for how I am emotionally?  That's hard to say.  Grief takes many forms.  It looks like holding each other and sobbing in the exam room.  It looks like lying back to back in bed, feeling each other's solid warmth, while we each scroll through Facebook.  Like holding my living children extra tight and playing board games with them, even when I'm tired.  Like going to Walmart with my bestie, just to get out of the house.  Like sleeping for hours in the afternoon.  Like laughing hysterically at memes because laughing lifts my spirit.  Like praying in the dark and asking God to take care of my baby.

It's not common to post about miscarriages.  I wonder, even now, if I should actually post this.  But I want people to know that it happens.  It's a real hurt, a real wound for families.  For those who have experienced this pain, you are not alone.  I am there with you, and if you ever need to talk, I'm here.  You don't have to walk that path on your own.

Love to you all.