Today is the day. Was supposed to be the day, anyway. Only five percent of babies are born on their due dates. Lily's already gone, so no sighing when today comes and goes and I still have a huge belly to "sleep" around tonight. I wish I could rewind to the day I saw her tiny arms waving during her ultrasound. To the day our children's faces lit up at the thought of another baby. If only I could enjoy again those brief moments before we lost her. To rewind and not feel this pain.
Things are back to normal around here. However, it is not the same normal. After a tragedy, the old normal is never felt again. The same is true of any major experience. My life has to accommodate this change and all the pain, lessons, and inconveniences that go with it. It is a "process," it does "take time," but in the meantime, a new normal is constructed for survival.
We have a new normal and a new reality. Our baby plans have been pushed back. I am not having a baby girl, our last child, this March at the age of 36. We still want to go for another baby, because we are nuts. So, I will be pregnant this summer. I won't be able to paint and vacations must be considered. I have to wait another several months to find out if my daughter will finally have to share her room or if my oldest boy will get his own room. I will be another year older when our last Sullivan arrives.
These inconveniences won't mean anything when we finally hold that last little baby in our arms. The nine months we have to wait will be scary and tiring. Morning sickness and fatigue, etc. Before every ob appointment, I will be holding my breath until the heartbeat is heard or until the tiny image appears, moving, on the ultrasound screen. I wish I could fast-forward.
At the same time I wish to rewind and fast-forward, but we all know we have to enjoy life in the moment. The cliches are all true. Our children grow up in the blink of an eye. I have to remind myself daily to enjoy them now. So I smell the baby shampoo in my toddler's hair as he hugs his "Melmo," see my school-agers pretending to be spies with all their homemade gadgets, watch my husband squeezing our four-year-old who is giggling only as four-year-olds can. Pause.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Monday, February 15, 2010
Six Loads
Six loads on the sanitary cycle. That is what it takes to clean up a food poisoning incident for four people. That and a bottle of carpet cleaner, several antibacterial wipes, and a half-bottle of carpet cleaner in the Hoover carpet shampooer. Oh, and several squirts of Febreeze. Chemicals can be a good thing.
I'm so glad I didn't eat the ham. Six out of our seven did. One barely ate a molecule of it. One got lucky- I microwaved his a long time. That's why only four got sick, but last night at 1:00 AM, I kept waiting for those two to join the vomit party. First my husband started the good times. Then my six-year-old. I went to check on my baby only to see him snoozing next to a pile of vomit. Later, I heard through the baby monitor my four-year-old heaving.
My husband doesn't even want to see ham again. Ditto the other unfortunates. I didn't eat the ham, but even I don't want to see it again. I saw enough second-hand ham last night, thanks.
The kids had the day off today, and we were supposed to have friends over for a playdate day and make cookies and other fun stuff. Instead, most of us stayed in Superman p.j.s and the like and cleaned up the results of a very disappointing meal.
The ham had been fully cooked, but it must have sat out too long or something. Lesson learned. I will zap leftover meat for a long, long time. That is if we ever eat it again.
I'm so glad I didn't eat the ham. Six out of our seven did. One barely ate a molecule of it. One got lucky- I microwaved his a long time. That's why only four got sick, but last night at 1:00 AM, I kept waiting for those two to join the vomit party. First my husband started the good times. Then my six-year-old. I went to check on my baby only to see him snoozing next to a pile of vomit. Later, I heard through the baby monitor my four-year-old heaving.
My husband doesn't even want to see ham again. Ditto the other unfortunates. I didn't eat the ham, but even I don't want to see it again. I saw enough second-hand ham last night, thanks.
The kids had the day off today, and we were supposed to have friends over for a playdate day and make cookies and other fun stuff. Instead, most of us stayed in Superman p.j.s and the like and cleaned up the results of a very disappointing meal.
The ham had been fully cooked, but it must have sat out too long or something. Lesson learned. I will zap leftover meat for a long, long time. That is if we ever eat it again.
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Look, Mommy!
Today at Arby's Bubble Boy pointed to something and said something I couldn't make out (he is in speech therapy for intelligibility issues). I had a sense that he was pointing to someone instead of something so I was afraid to look.
I remember when I was about three or four and I was sitting in a restaurant with my younger sister and mother. My sister and I were giggling and pointing. To my mother's horror, we were giggling and pointing at someone. That someone was a black man. Thankfully, we weren't saying the "N" word. I don't even think we'd heard that word. We had heard the word "colored," however, and that is what we were giggling about.
"Mommy, look, there's a colored man. Hee hee hee."
Obviously, there weren't many "colored" men in the town in which we grew up. Obviously, we had gleaned from society or certain family members, who shall remain unnamed, that being "colored" was something to giggle at.
My mother tried her best to hush us. I don't know if the man heard us or not, but he gave no indication that he did.
I remembered this incident as I sat in Arby's with my four-year-old, hoping he wasn't pointing at someone.
"Mommy, I said look!"
"Look at what?" I said, eyes still lowered, procrastinating the embarrassment I knew was coming. Who was it? A person of color? Surely not. Bubble Boy has seen a million on t.v. not to mention the many we call friends. A disfigured person? Maybe.
No. "Look. It's an old guy."
I briefly looked out of the corner of my eye. As in my childhood memory, I couldn't tell if he heard us. I hoped he didn't. Awkward!
When I didn't respond, Bubble Boy said it again, louder. "AN OLD GUY!"
I whispered the mommy-type things. "It's not nice to point at people," etc.
Bubble Boy sulked. How could I not get excited about an old guy? Maybe he rode dinosaurs or something. What? Has my son not seen old people? To his credit, his grandparents, and even his great-grandparents, do seem young.
I know how disturbing it is that my sister and I laughed at an African American back in the seventies. Our society has come a long way. Thankfully, my sister and I did too; we grew up as sensitive, caring people who would never do such a thing nowadays.
I find it disturbing that my son thinks of an elderly man as a novelty. What does this say about our society today?
My family is planning on participating in Disney's "Give a Day, Get a Day" promotion. We have chosen a job that entails visiting and helping out the elderly. The timing is perfect.
I remember when I was about three or four and I was sitting in a restaurant with my younger sister and mother. My sister and I were giggling and pointing. To my mother's horror, we were giggling and pointing at someone. That someone was a black man. Thankfully, we weren't saying the "N" word. I don't even think we'd heard that word. We had heard the word "colored," however, and that is what we were giggling about.
"Mommy, look, there's a colored man. Hee hee hee."
Obviously, there weren't many "colored" men in the town in which we grew up. Obviously, we had gleaned from society or certain family members, who shall remain unnamed, that being "colored" was something to giggle at.
My mother tried her best to hush us. I don't know if the man heard us or not, but he gave no indication that he did.
I remembered this incident as I sat in Arby's with my four-year-old, hoping he wasn't pointing at someone.
"Mommy, I said look!"
"Look at what?" I said, eyes still lowered, procrastinating the embarrassment I knew was coming. Who was it? A person of color? Surely not. Bubble Boy has seen a million on t.v. not to mention the many we call friends. A disfigured person? Maybe.
No. "Look. It's an old guy."
I briefly looked out of the corner of my eye. As in my childhood memory, I couldn't tell if he heard us. I hoped he didn't. Awkward!
When I didn't respond, Bubble Boy said it again, louder. "AN OLD GUY!"
I whispered the mommy-type things. "It's not nice to point at people," etc.
Bubble Boy sulked. How could I not get excited about an old guy? Maybe he rode dinosaurs or something. What? Has my son not seen old people? To his credit, his grandparents, and even his great-grandparents, do seem young.
I know how disturbing it is that my sister and I laughed at an African American back in the seventies. Our society has come a long way. Thankfully, my sister and I did too; we grew up as sensitive, caring people who would never do such a thing nowadays.
I find it disturbing that my son thinks of an elderly man as a novelty. What does this say about our society today?
My family is planning on participating in Disney's "Give a Day, Get a Day" promotion. We have chosen a job that entails visiting and helping out the elderly. The timing is perfect.
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Do You Like Sugar?
All morning the kids were waiting to open their presents.
Waiting so patiently.First, everyone had to get up. Then they had to eat breakfast. Then Daddy needed to run out for one last forgotten gift.
Finally, we were ready. Each cherub had his presents neatly stacked in front of him. Their fingers were posed for ripping.
Wait- where's the baby? We need to go find E.E. He's been way too quiet, and we know that isn't good.
Where was E.E. when everyone else was thinking about Littlest Pet Shop and Bakugan, I mean, the birth of Jesus?
This is where he was. Putting syrup on his giant table pancake and licking it off.
Emily: "Do you like sugar?"Buddy the Elf: "Is there sugar in syrup?"
Emily: "Yes."
Buddy the Elf: "Then yes!"
He had syrup all over him, the table, and the floor. Guess what kiddies? Now we have to give him a bath. So, just a while longer before presents, OK? Sure, Mommy. We were just sitting here thanking the lord for the baby Jesus and discussing the wise men's gift choices. No rush.
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Brotherly Love
Today I was making turkey noodle soup for dinner. As I was pulling the meat from the frame, I gave the wishbone to J.T. and Bubble Boy. I told them each to take a side and pull while making a wish. I forgot to mention wishes are made silently, and so they both excitedly blurted their wishes out loud.
As they yanked on the greasy bone, Bubble Boy said, "I wish that J.T. and I will never get hurt again." I will never forget that sweet face, still healing from a run-in with the bedroom door frame, and that four-year-old voice wishing not only for himself, but for his brother. *sigh*
Meanwhile, J.T. exclaims, "I wish Bubble Boy were dead!" Do you hear all the movie sound effects for "the fun has ended"? I took the bone and asked J.T. why he said that. I suppose he could tell from the look on my face he had chosen the wrong wish. He ran from the room, and when I caught up with him, he was tearing up. I asked him if he was kidding. He had a confused look on his face, and I think his wish was just the act of repeating a line he had heard other kids say about themselves, siblings, parents, etc. It was a stock answer. J.T. has never said anything like that before, and he and Bubble Boy love each other and are best buddies.
He finally said he was kidding, and apologized to Bubble Boy, who was horrified and crying. He gave J.T. a hug, and all was well (except Bubble Boy might sleep with his eyes open tonight).
As they yanked on the greasy bone, Bubble Boy said, "I wish that J.T. and I will never get hurt again." I will never forget that sweet face, still healing from a run-in with the bedroom door frame, and that four-year-old voice wishing not only for himself, but for his brother. *sigh*
Meanwhile, J.T. exclaims, "I wish Bubble Boy were dead!" Do you hear all the movie sound effects for "the fun has ended"? I took the bone and asked J.T. why he said that. I suppose he could tell from the look on my face he had chosen the wrong wish. He ran from the room, and when I caught up with him, he was tearing up. I asked him if he was kidding. He had a confused look on his face, and I think his wish was just the act of repeating a line he had heard other kids say about themselves, siblings, parents, etc. It was a stock answer. J.T. has never said anything like that before, and he and Bubble Boy love each other and are best buddies.
He finally said he was kidding, and apologized to Bubble Boy, who was horrified and crying. He gave J.T. a hug, and all was well (except Bubble Boy might sleep with his eyes open tonight).
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Still
Still processing...
Lily, if you were alive I think we'd end up calling you "Lily-bell" or Lily-bug." We'd end up calling you silly names like the rest of them.
I hope you don't mind we gave you the name "Lily" instead of "Delaney" like I was planning. Delaney didn't seem reverent. You were born an angel, and some names are more earthly than others. Delaney is a name for a little girl who will run and jump, scream and throw tantrums, sing and eat lollipops with a melty smile. I am so saddened that you will do none of those things.
You are still and quiet. You were delicate in your body. Lily is a name for an angel.
I plan on planting some lilies-of-the-valley for you by Evan's magnolia tree. These are better for me than a cold headstone.
Lily, if we do have a Delaney that runs and sings and eats lollipops, I hope you will feel happiness. I hope you know that every time I see lilies, I will remember you.
Lily, if you were alive I think we'd end up calling you "Lily-bell" or Lily-bug." We'd end up calling you silly names like the rest of them.
I hope you don't mind we gave you the name "Lily" instead of "Delaney" like I was planning. Delaney didn't seem reverent. You were born an angel, and some names are more earthly than others. Delaney is a name for a little girl who will run and jump, scream and throw tantrums, sing and eat lollipops with a melty smile. I am so saddened that you will do none of those things.
You are still and quiet. You were delicate in your body. Lily is a name for an angel.
I plan on planting some lilies-of-the-valley for you by Evan's magnolia tree. These are better for me than a cold headstone.
Lily, if we do have a Delaney that runs and sings and eats lollipops, I hope you will feel happiness. I hope you know that every time I see lilies, I will remember you.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Processing
How discordant are my last two posts with one another? Wow. One is happy times and the other is like a smack in the face. Unexpected for sure.
Today I got the call telling me my daughter's cremains were ready to be picked up. Is that even a word- "cremains"? That's what the funeral director called them. So, I will be bringing home a tiny silver urn. It will be rough to do that. Going in the funeral home to sign the papers wasn't bad, but having the urn in my hands...
I'd say some days, I still forget what happened. Denial, maybe? It seems as I have already done the denial thing. However, I have read that grieving people skip around the phases of grief, coming and going and coming again.
I have my "postpartum" visit next week. I hope all my parts are in order. I had a thought today- if I cannot have any more children, I will be devastated. I will fall in a hole. That tells me I do want another baby. First, my visit and questions. Second, hubby?
I am heading to Indiana tomorrow to enjoy Thanksgiving with family. I know it is going to be uncomfortable. I still look pregnant.
I keep thinking about Ambercutie and her new favorite song. Before the loss, she had been singing along with her Barbie MP3 player to Carrie Underwood's "All-American Girl." When I heard it today, the lyrics made me sad. Ambercutie was so excited about that "little pink blanket" that she was certain we were going to bring home.
Well, we did get a girl, but we will be bringing her home in a little silver urn instead.
Today I got the call telling me my daughter's cremains were ready to be picked up. Is that even a word- "cremains"? That's what the funeral director called them. So, I will be bringing home a tiny silver urn. It will be rough to do that. Going in the funeral home to sign the papers wasn't bad, but having the urn in my hands...
I'd say some days, I still forget what happened. Denial, maybe? It seems as I have already done the denial thing. However, I have read that grieving people skip around the phases of grief, coming and going and coming again.
I have my "postpartum" visit next week. I hope all my parts are in order. I had a thought today- if I cannot have any more children, I will be devastated. I will fall in a hole. That tells me I do want another baby. First, my visit and questions. Second, hubby?
I am heading to Indiana tomorrow to enjoy Thanksgiving with family. I know it is going to be uncomfortable. I still look pregnant.
I keep thinking about Ambercutie and her new favorite song. Before the loss, she had been singing along with her Barbie MP3 player to Carrie Underwood's "All-American Girl." When I heard it today, the lyrics made me sad. Ambercutie was so excited about that "little pink blanket" that she was certain we were going to bring home.
Well, we did get a girl, but we will be bringing her home in a little silver urn instead.
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