Breaking the expectations

I’m not sure what I was expecting of this pregnancy. I mean, I wasn’t expecting the pregnancy, so how can I expect anything out of it? Or rather, how would I know what to expect out of my brain when I wasn’t planning this. I like planning. I’m a planner. I need to know what’s going on. And this has become more important to me since bravo and his allergies and since Thomas. Those two very unplanned things really threw (and continue to throw) me for big giant brain-breaking loops. So I really try to keep everything else orderly (as orderly as it can be with 3 very small kids) and planned and keep my life tidy. I don’t know why I haven’t accepted yet that life just isn’t tidy.

Add in another unplanned loop (baby icicle) and no wonder I feel like I’m going crazy.

I knew more or less what to expect with other pregnancies. I would get pregnant, have a baby, be unprepared (yes, I planned to be unprepared- see my problem??), land on my feet, repeat 2 more times.

And then the plan was to have an 18 month old and 3 year old and 4.5 year old for the summer and go to the beach and get on with life and find freedom that comes with no infants.

And then my plan was changed and I have since been knocked off my feet and am still struggling to get back on them. I don’t deal well with plans being changed for me. If I have some notice, fine. But with no notice…. I go a little crazy. Er.

I’ve been working the last bit at changing my expectations.

This baby was not expected.

This new family dynamic wasn’t expected.

Being pregnant with 3 other kids (which, by the way, is for the birds- what does that even mean??) was not expected.

(side note- how many idioms do I use in a day that I really don’t know why I use them or where they came from? I like idioms. They make things funny.)

So how do I be OK with this? I mean, I have no choice. But maybe it’s OK that I’m not doing cartwheels (metaphorical, not literal, I would land in bone breaking and uncomfortable positions if I attempted that right now and my pelvis may actually snap in half) over this pregnancy. Maybe it’s OK that I don’t know what to expect from this child and from my family. Maybe it’s OK that my life is not going according to plan (has it ever, though??) and that I am thrown for a loop with this.

Maybe it’s OK, maybe I should encourage myself even, to let go of expectations for this pregnancy and for this child and just feel what I’m going to feel and then get on with life. Because feeling guilt over not meeting my expectations for this pregnancy as I did for the previous ones is eating me up. And I’ve had just about enough of guilt. Now, it seems to not have enough of me, but maybe I can kick it to the curb for this pregnancy and baby and let myself revel in whatever experience this is shaping out to be. This is my LAST baby, so I would like to start enjoying the pregnancy (even the miseries of it- like peeing my pants because the 4 year old trumps the pregnant woman’s need for the toilet) despite not being prepared for it.

This baby was a surprise. And I have a feeling that the baby itself is going to be a surprise. Wait, I just repeated myself, didn’t I? I mean the existence of the baby was a shock, and maybe the whole parenting experience is just going to be a surprise with this one. The first 3 are radically different little people, so this one I’m sure is going to keep me guessing.

I have no idea anymore what this post is about.

So much for planning.

Good jokes

Alpha is into trying to tell jokes right now. And Bravo is into copying anything Alpha does. Which makes for some pretty funny meal time conversations.

A-“knock Knock”

Me- “Who’s there?”

B- “Water Alpha!”

A- “No, knock knock”

Matt- “who’s there?”

A-“water”

Matt- “water who?”

B- “water Bravo!”

Me- “Bravo, let your brother tell the joke.”

B- “water Charlie!”

Matt- “not that brother, your other brother.”

A- “water new baby!”

Me-“you can’t water the new baby, it’s in my belly.”

B-“knock knock”

Me- “who’s there?”

B-“water new baby, Alpha, Bravo!”

A- “knock knock”

Matt- “Who’s there”               B-(at the same time as Alpha now dividing the conversation at the table

                                                         into 2 sets of crazy) “knock knock”

A- “Water”                              me- “who’s there?”

Matt-”water who?”               b- “water Alpha!”

A- “knock knock”                   me- “that’s a good joke.”

Matt- “who’s there?”            B-“knock knock”

A- “Water.”                             Me- “who’s there?”

Matt- “water who?”              B-“blahfgehbackaghwhacthshgjgyusa”

A- “Water banana!”               me-“that makes no sense. Eat your fish.”

A- “Mom, how does the joke go?”

B- “knock knock poop!”

Sigh. Everything always comes back to poop.

After about ½ an hour of this same ridiculous conversation in which bravo (while declaring repeatedly that he does not like fish) ate about ¾ of a salmon fillet to himself and Alpha (while declaring repeatedly that he does not like rice and wasn’t hungry) ate very little, and Charlie went between laughing at his crazy brothers and flinging little bits of rice, salmon, and peppers all over the floor, the 2 jokes finally did come out in more or less the right order.

Knock knock

Who’s there?

Water

Water who?

Water you doing???

Knock knock

Who’s there

Banana

Banana who

Knock knock

Who’s there

Banana

Banana who

Knock knock

Who’s there

Orange

Orange who?

Orange you glad I didn’t say banana?

But at the end of the day it all came back to one joke.

Knock knock.

Poop.

Our baby has a name at last!!

We have been struggling to find a real actual factual name for Delta. A girls name we can swing. But if this is another boy, we’re screwed. The first 3 were hard enough to name. This fourth one? We got nothing. We have ONE name that both Matthew and I equally don’t hate. Poor fourth baby.

Until now. We have a name. Girl OR boy.

Alpha was helping (can’t you tell?) to come up with names. When pushed to decide on our list of 4 names that neiterh Matt or I like Alpha insited that those were not good enough.

A-“Oh Mommy, I have the prefect name!”

Me- “what’s that”

A- “Muffin!”

Me- “muffin”?

A- “yes! Muffin!”

Me- “why muffin?”

A- “because I like muffins and I like this new baby.”

Me- “what about a middle name?”

A- “I already told you, Bob. Because of my bob” (Bob is his little stuffed bear that has been with us since I was 32 weeks pregnant with Alpha and has become Alpha’s best friend)

Me. “so… Muffin Bob Jennings?”

A- “yes. It’s perfect.”

Yes. It is perfect. For a dog, perhaps, but still perfect.

Oh. Update.

We were playing outside and Alpha re-named the baby.

A- "muffin isn't the right name, mommy."

Me- "oh, no?"

A- "maybe for a middle name. But the first name is Icicle."

Me- "Icicle? Icicle Muffin Jennings?"

A- "YES!!"

And he has been calling my belly that since.

Muffin Bob, or Icicle Muffin

We are all excited to meet you. Especially your big big big brother. Your big big brother is, too, but he mostly seems concerned that your baby blanket isn’t finished yet. Your big brother has no clue that you’re on the way. So grow and grow and grow and then come on out when you’re ready, OK? We love you. And I’ll try really hard to come up with something more fitted to a baby human than “Icicle.” I promise.

Love Mommy.

In every tree there sits a bird

There are a few parts to my disjointed post today. The first part which won't make much sense until the end is about a dear dear friend who just said goodbye to her angel on Friday. Her heartbreak is huge and unbearable and one I feel deeply for her because I have had to say goodbye to my own sweet boy. When she left the hospital it was snowing. So much snow. Snowflakes all around her. No birds, no rainbows or sunshine, a lot of snow.

Now most of you know this wonderful mommy and her beautiful rainbow. She gave birth to her daughter at 38 weeks and had to say goodbye that day. One beautiful thing about this story is her rainbow. This mom sees more rainbows than I think I have ever ever seen in my entire life. And every time she sees a rainbow she thinks of Mackenzie. And every time I see a rainbow I think of Mackenzie. And every time a hundred people across the country see a rainbow, they think of her beautiful Mackenzie. And it's perfect and wonderful and fitting.

And I must say sometimes it makes me a little sad.

I never really talked about Thomas when I was going through it. It's only been since I started this blog that I really realised I needed to talk about him. But I was scared to. I was afraid that I would be dismissed, that my grief and pain and ultimately the life of my son would be dismissed and therefore unvalidated. I guess I’m still afraid to talk about my Thomas. Afraid that he will be discounted because he wasn’t a “real” baby. And I couldn’t bear anybody to think that because to me he was perfect.

When that little 2 inch one-dimensional vaguely baby-shaped white blob came out attached to the placenta, I knew that was the remains of my perfect baby. Squished by his larger brother from week 16-40, fluids drawn out, compacted, and grown into the placenta which provided life for Charlie, Thomas is still my baby. I carried him for 9 months. It just so happens that for 5 of those he wasn’t living. And I could not bare to take the chance that people would think these things about Thomas. But that just caused me to feel even more lonely. How could people think about him when they didn't know about him??

So I am posting this. I have had this in my head for a long time, but have never told a single living soul. Not even Matthew.

I sing a song to Paul every night before bed. And every time I sing it I think of my Thomas.

In every tree there sits a bird,

singing a song of love

In every tree there sits a bird,

and every one I’ve ever heard,

could break your heart without a word,

Singing a song of love

The song of love is a sad song,

Hi lily hi lily hi lo

The song of love is a song of woe,

don’t ask me how I know

The song of love is a sad song,

for I have loved and it’s so

I sit at the window and watch the rain,

 hi lily hi lily hi lo

Tomorrow I’ll probably love again,

hi lily hi lily hi lo

And every time I see a sparrow I think of my baby. Sitting in a tree, watching over us, singing a beautiful but ever so sad song. And all the other sparrows in the tree are other lost babies singing away. Making the world cheerier. Strong, beautiful in their simplicity, cheery, tiny little birds.

I can never touch a sparrow. If I tried it would fly away. They sit in the tree, but remain forever out of reach. You can't hold a sparrow. And you can't touch a rainbow. They're beautiful and sparkly and full of joy and love. And they shine, out of reach, never touchable. And if you tried to hold a snowflake it would just... melt away. The snowflake is perfect and unique and beautiful and intricate, and fleeting. Sparrows, rainbows, snowflakes, each perfect, each beautiful, each cruel and heartbreaking in their fleeting and unreachable ways.

So when you see a little sparrow, maybe give a little thought for my boy. Let him know you love his song. And give a little thought of me, living without my boy, and of Charlie, living his life without his beautiful and perfect twin.