My Baby is a Toddler?!

Once upon a time, it was Thanksgiving 2013 and I was pregnant and woke up at my parents' house, kind of generally wanting to die. Jared and Milo and I were spending a few days with them so that we could eat all of the Thanksgiving food with all of the people and I just wanted to sleep in all of the beds. Desperate to find some sort of morning (and noon and night) sickness relief, I turned to google. Google took me to The Bump, where I found a glorious forum of hundreds of other women that were due with babies in July 2014 that were all feeling sick on Thanksgiving morning! Could it be true?

Yes, it was true. As a scared first time mom, this group was fantastic. A small fraction of the group eventually moved to a Facebook group a few months before all of our beautiful babies were born, where we were able to continue growing relationships. I now have women that I consider to be close friends that are spread out across North America and we are able to enjoy watching each others kids grow and learn and develop. We generally know what each other have going on and offer advice and support on babies, jobs, finances, relationships, pets...you name it, we've probably talked about it.

Back in September, I got the idea to write a blog post on surviving toddlerhood. I took the question to my mom group and asked for their answers. A good number of these women have multiple children and have been through the toddler years (and even lived to tell about it) and are therefore able to offer great advice. Many just have one child around Abby's age (but most are older since she was born the 27th), and some have had their second squishy baby since we started the group.

I decided to compile their answers in to a post for any other families out there that are stumbling (and screaming and crying and giggling) through the toddler years. As a first time mom, I'm thankful for these smart, experienced moms and for what they have taught me. I am no expert, so I'm happy to share advice from some moms that I do consider to be experts!

1. Pick your battles.
The fellow momma that shared this advice said, "Do we really care if she picks a shirt that looks stupid with her pants? Does it matter that she wants to do something one way (that is perfectly acceptable) but isn't how you would do it?" When you stop and think about it, no. No, it doesn't matter. We get caught up on the green bean to goldfish to milk to water to dog hair ratio and as toddlers learn how to be more and more picky about their food, some days the fact that they ate anything at all is something to celebrate. Dare I say that it's okay if they eat food off of the floor? Because I think it is. A little dirt never hurt anyone. Also, they're going to do it when you're not looking, anyways.

2. Don't put adult expectations on your toddler.
We have our own way of doing things, and whether we like it or not, our babies are growing up and finding their own ways of doing things. We expect our children to listen to us and it is frustrating when they don't. Sometime around then is when we need to step back and say, "calm down, lady, this kid is only 16 months old." Your child will get there. "No" will become more than the funniest word ever and I suspect that some day when I say, "Abby, come here," Milo won't be the only one that comes running over!

3. Kids develop at different speeds.
"Everyone's toddler has skills and attributes that make them amazing. Some kids walked right out of the womb, some already know 10 words and some sit still for an entire book. Learn your toddler's skills and celebrate them." Fantastic advice. It is so easy to play the comparison game and, as moms, we can always find the place where our own child seems to be losing. 

4. Your plans don't matter anymore.
What's that, mom? You want to leave early for church today so that you're actually not late for praise band practice for once? Well, that's nice. I'd rather throw myself on the floor and scream because you approached me with my shoe. 
I suppose the lesson in this is that moms need to wake up approximately three hours earlier than they would need to otherwise because accidents happen. Every day. And because we have endless energy, that's no big deal, right? That's what I thought.

5. Give your child choices that don't matter.
From another mom: "Do you want the blue cup or the green cup? Do you want the batman shirt or the spiderman shirt? They learn that they can have input, and, theoretically, will be more willing to listen when something happens that they don't get a choice about." Abby may be little, but she has very strong opinions about pretty much everything. I love watching her make choices and hopefully will remember this advice as she grows older.

6. To schedule or not?
If your child needs to follow his or her schedule in order to avoid becoming a melting pile of toddler, then by all means, live by your schedule. Great Aunt Bertha* is coming over and thinks kids shouldn't nap when there's company? Sorry, Great Aunt Bertha, you get to leave in two hours and I'm going to be here with my little munchkin that is whining and stumbling and tantruming three hours before bedtime because you didn't want her to nap. Sometimes, it's okay to mess up your schedule. It totally depends on your child. If we are at a friend's house, Abby can party with the rest of us until 9:00 or 9:30. When we're home? Meltdowns and eye rubs start consistently at 7:45. Follow your gut - Mom and Dad know best when it comes to their toddler's schedule.
(*disclaimer: I have no Great Aunt Bertha.)

7. Toddlers are quick to forgive and forget.
Moms are human and surprise, surprise...we aren't perfect! We snap when our kid won't stay out of the dog's water bowl, we get annoyed when they throw a tantrum because mom wouldn't let them play with something dangerous. They scream and fall face down on the floor and then, magically, two minutes later they're hugging your knees and bringing you books to read to them. Sometimes the mean momma side needs to come out and that's okay - children need discipline. The mom that shared this advice ended with, " But it doesn't mean they'll stop loving you or hate you forever." Amen, sister.

8. Breathe.
I'm reminded daily how quickly Abby is growing. There is always a mile-long list of chores and errands and projects that I should be doing, but those things can wait. Slow down, breathe, and enjoy your toddler before they're not a toddler anymore. 

9. Your kid's face will never be clean.
Food happens, dirt happens, snot happens, strange things happen that honestly have no explanation. You'd have to buy stock in baby wipes to actually keep your kid's face 100% clean 100% of the time. I figure sometime around middle school Abby will start cleaning her own face. Maybe. ;)

10. When you leave the house, take an extra towel and clothes.
Towels especially if you're going outside, and clothes because...well...they're toddlers.

11. Media doesn't give an accurate representation of motherhood.
The Today Show will feature "just an average mom" making complex crafts with their kids and none of those children are eating glue or putting beads in holes on their faces where those things don't belong. Your mom friends on Facebook angle their Instagram shots so that you can't see the piles of dirty laundry or the bag of flour that their kid just decided to empty in to the fireplace. Go easy on yourself. Another mom said, "Never compare your bloopers to someone else's highlight reel." Don't let yourself feel inferior.

And I'll end with this advice from one of my fellow mamas. You may need to grab a tissue for this one. Thanks to the ladies that helped me compile this post!

"We've touched on this before. Don't be so critical of yourself. Specifically, your appearance or your ability as a mother. When all is said and done, and we are long gone, our children think we are beautiful and they will be greedy for every single memento of us. Don't shy from pictures. They don't see the imperfections. They just see their beautiful, smiling mom who was there through thick and thin, on sick days, school field trips, graduations; marriages and the birth of grandchildren. Our children love us - just as we are. He looks to your smile to know he's done something right. He looks to your arms for comfort in the middle of the night. He rests his face in the crook of your neck and breathes in the very essence of you when he's sick. He doesn't care about jelly rolls or flabby arms or wrinkles on your face. All that matters is that we are there."

Our Story of Loss

On Thursday, September 17, I woke up to a wonderful surprise: a positive pregnancy test! We celebrated in private for a couple weeks, then shared the news with our families when we couldn’t contain our excitement any more. Our peanut would be due May 29^th, 2016. We started planning where our new baby would sleep and how we’d fit a crib in to the extra bedroom along with the desk, guitars, and overflow of craft supplies that we have stuffed in there. We talked about how Abby and her new sibling would probably have circular crying fits at night, waking each other up, and that we’d both have to get up and calm our respective babies. We threw around name ideas. Mother’s intuition (the same that told me that Abby was a girl early on in pregnancy) had me believing that our baby was going to be a boy.

 As the weeks passed, I waited and waited for morning sickness to start. I chalked it up to every pregnancy being different, but had also heard (perhaps a myth) that the more sick the mother feels, the healthier the pregnancy will be. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong because I didn’t feel sick. Crazy, right? Almost wanting to feel sick? I did feel plenty of other aches and pains and was looking forward to second trimester, when most mothers feel a boost of energy, feel less aches and pains, and could rest more easily in the knowledge that her pregnancy would be a viable one. 

 On Saturday, October 17, exactly one month after my positive pregnancy test, I started experiencing some red flag symptoms that I hadn’t dealt with during Abby’s pregnancy. That same mother’s intuition nagged at me and the following day, I called the on-call OBGYN from my practice at the hospital. He warned me that my symptoms could be a sign of an impending miscarriage and urged me to call the practice the following morning, and to come to the ER immediately if things suddenly worsened. 

 I knew things weren’t right on Monday morning. I called my doctor’s office and grew increasingly frustrated because they weren’t answering their phone. I realize that, due to their line of work, an obstetrician is not always readily available, but I was so anxious to talk to someone that I wasn’t thinking clearly. Luckily, Jared has Mondays off and he was home to help me keep my head on straight, and also to entertain Abby. My mom had planned to come babysit Abby on Monday, October 26, which would have been my dating ultrasound. Since I would be going in prematurely for this ultrasound, she would come up that afternoon to watch Abby while we went to the doctor. I had been calling my OBGYN since 8:30 and finally heard back from the office at 11:00; my ultrasound would take place at 2:00.

 I was a bundle of nerves as we walked back the hallway. I stepped on the scale and they took my blood pressure, which was surprisingly normal for all of the stress I was feeling. We took an even longer walk back to the ultrasound room and the ultrasound tech and my OB joined us a few moments later. We were grateful that my doctor came in the room with us. It allowed her to explain what they were seeing as they were seeing it, and it gave us a much shorter visit in the office. 

Our baby should have been measuring 8 weeks and 1 day, but he was only measuring 5 weeks and 4 days. My doctor explained that this could be because I had nursed Abby until she was about 13 months, and breastfeeding can alter a woman’s cycle enough that timing and dating in a pregnancy can be different than what was expected. Then we saw something beautiful that I likely will never forget – our baby had a tiny 70 beats per second heartbeat. We couldn’t hear it, but the little squiggly lines (this is clearly the medical term for it) came up at the bottom of the screen. Our doctor told us that she was cautiously optimistic. They would draw blood that day to check my pregnancy levels, I would come back in two days for another blood draw, and then in two weeks for another ultrasound. 

 Unfortunately, we didn’t make it to another ultrasound in two weeks. We didn’t even make it to the 48-hours-away blood draw. Things took a turn for the worst on Tuesday. Jared had already gone back to work after his lunch break, and I took Abby back to her bedroom to change her diaper. I felt a fairly severe cramp in my lower belly. I finished with Abby and, much to her dismay, set her in her crib so that I could go to the bathroom. The cramps quickly became more and more severe. I couldn’t stop thinking, “this isn’t right, this shouldn’t be happening…” Because family is wonderful and because of things like parental intuition, my dad had happened to send me a text message while this was going on to check on me. I told him and Jared both that something was wrong and I was calling the doctor. I had no trouble getting in touch with them this time, thank goodness, and they asked if I could come in right away. I called Jared and, through tears, asked him to come home. The tears were partially because I knew what was happening, and also because the pain that was I was feeling was not too far from the pain of labor. 

 Fortunately, the ultrasound tech was not with a patient when we got to my doctor’s office and we were able to be seen almost immediately. Because of how quickly we had to leave the house, we didn’t have a babysitter and Abby was with us. A long wait in the lobby would have made for an unhappy toddler, but she happened to be in a good mood that day and made things so much easier on us. 

I laid back on the table and it was exactly like the previous day: the tech came in, my doctor came in, and I took a deep breath. The ultrasound was started, and my doctor delivered the news:

 “I’m sorry, sweetie, but what we saw in there yesterday isn’t in there anymore.”

 I couldn’t believe it. I knew all along that it was happening and I had prepared myself for it on some sort of shallow level, but can you really fully prepare yourself to hear news like that? My OB was gentle and caring and patient and she wiped my tears away while she talked to me. She handled everything exactly the way that it needed to be handled. As she was working on me, she asked how old Abby was. She delivered Abby and I can’t imagine how many babies she’s delivered since July 27, 2014, so we didn’t mind reminding her. She shared with us that when her oldest child was 14 months (just like Abby), she experienced a miscarriage. She then went on to have twins. She encouraged us that the majority of the women she sees that have lost a baby go on to have completely normal and healthy pregnancies that result in an equally normal and healthy baby. 

 My doctor gave me instructions about the prescription that we’d pick up that would finish the process, what to do if my symptoms worsened over the next few days, and information about my appointments that would follow. She stepped up next to my shoulder and told me, “Everyone tells me that my job must be the best in the world, and that it must be so much fun. They don’t think about how hard this is, that this is my least favorite part of my job. People will try to be helpful but they don’t know what to say to women that have experienced a loss, and they will say stupid things. Just be ready for that.” Luckily, the only people we had to immediately share the news with were our family and Jared’s coworkers. Because we’re blessed with wonderful family and Jared has great coworkers, none of them had anything stupid to tell us, so we found a lot of comfort in the conversations that would follow with them.

 I felt so many emotions just that night, and even more in the days that have followed. I immediately felt guilt. It must be a mom’s fault when her baby doesn’t survive, right? Then logical Beth stepped in and I realized that literally everything I did at the beginning of my pregnancy with Abby – the foods I ate, didn’t eat, the drinks I had, the medicine I took and didn’t take – it was all the same. It clearly worked out okay with her, so I settled with the fact that losing my baby wasn’t my doing. I still wrestle away feelings of guilt, but I’m so grateful for the healthy pregnancy that I had with Abby and for the ability to compare the two. Her life is proof that we are capable of conceiving, carrying, and delivering a perfectly healthy baby and I’m exponentially more thankful for her every day because of that. 

 I feel cheated out of many things. I won’t lay in bed at night, trying to fall asleep between baby hiccups rocking my belly. I won’t feel his elbows in my ribs and his feet kicking me. I won’t spend the months of April and May packing our hospital bags, buying tiny newborn diapers, tucking away little clothes washed in that delicious-smelling baby detergent, smoothing freshly-washed sheets over a new crib mattress, and wondering whether or not that was a real contraction and if I need to be getting in the car to head to Wilkes Regional. I won’t have middle of the night bonding with this child, staring at him, simultaneously wishing he would just go. the. heck. to. sleep. and being so grateful that he’s not sleeping and that I get to rock my baby. I won’t have cuddly naps on the couch, I won’t chase him around the living room like I do Abby these days. I think about what he would grow up to be, who he would have married, what his children would have been like. Your mind does a lot while grieving, whether you want it to or not. 

 I’ve been angry, sad, confused, guilty, and nostalgic for newborn days. At times, perhaps in moments of clarity, I feel relief. Imagine that our baby had made it to May 29^th as he should have, was born, and then became too ill to survive. As difficult and painful as miscarriage is, I absolutely cannot imagine what parents go through who lose a child once they’re actually born. My heart breaks for them and I’ve remembered that general group of people in my prayers on several occasions since our own loss. 

We are now four weeks out from my miscarriage. I thank God for our family and that my mom could spend the majority of that awful week at our house with us. She took care of Abby – fixed her food, changed her diapers (Dear Mom, I could get used to that!), chased her around, kept her from playing with dangerous things…the usual taking-care-of-a-toddler responsibilities. I was so physically and mentally drained that there was no way I could have been momma hen the way that I would have needed to be. Because of previous plans we spent more time with family over that weekend. Parents are fantastic and our conversations, rehashing of memories, and laughing were so healing to me. 

 If you’ve made it this far in my post you deserve a gold medal and you may be wondering why I decided to share our story at such length. It is heartbreaking how common miscarriage is. I’ve seen various statistics, but one that sticks out in my mind is that approximately 20% of pregnancies will end in a loss. These odds mean that if you saw five women today, one of them has likely had a miscarriage. It’s terrible and unreal and hard to believe, but it’s a fact. Think about the large amount of women you know – how many of them have had an experience exactly like ours?  

 I hate that women feel the need to keep their pregnancy losses a secret. I understand that it is hard to share and that at times it feels almost shameful, but I wish it didn’t have to be that way. By sharing our story, I’m not hoping to rake in heaps of sympathy, although prayers are always appreciated. I sincerely hope that my story will help somebody else that has gone through this recently or several years ago or that may go through it in the future, although it is my greatest hope that no one that lays eyes on this blog post will ever experience a miscarriage. In my line of “work,” being a pastor’s wife and a stay at home mom, I have contact with so many women and I want these women to know that they can talk to me or cry with me or sit on a couch and watch pointless daytime TV with me if that’s what needs to happen to help them heal when they need healing. We are a community and that’s what we do for each other.

 What does this mean for our future? I firmly believe that in God’s time I will have a beautiful (nausea-filled, sore-ribbed, hiccupy-belly, achy-back) pregnancy and that Abby will have a little brother or sister. I will snuggle that baby and will complain that he or she wants to nurse too much and will rejoice with happy dances when he or she takes a bottle from Jared. I will wake up in a panic one morning and think that I slept through our baby crying overnight and then we will realize that, no!, our baby slept all night! I will chase him or her in the toddler days, I will think, “where on earth did that kid get those scissors?!” and I will marvel at the seemingly magnetic properties between a wall outlet and a toddler finger. 

 I am now one of millions in a growing community of women that have experienced a pain and loss that I think no woman should have to feel. I sincerely want any woman reading this to know that she has a friend in me and that whether I am able to help her or she is able to help me, I'm here and will continue to be here.

A great friend and fellow pastor’s wife called me the day of my miscarriage to check on me and she told me that we have a beautiful baby Blair in heaven that we will one day meet. If that’s not a beautiful, comforting thought in the midst of a terrible and terribly confusing time, I don’t know what is.