Caroline Rose… our rainbow baby

I'm growing to know every creak in our floors, as I rock, walk, and feed you. The creaks are quite loud in the quiet hours of the night.

Caroline, you don't sleep much at night, yet. No sleep is to be expected and really, it is a small sacrifice for what can only be considered a miracle.

You see, Caroline Rose you are our rainbow baby. Rainbows follow a rain storm.

Caroline is the bright, beautiful shining array of colors following our miscarriage last summer. For some people, miscarriage is too personal or hits too close to home. I would totally understand if you stop reading right now.

Look right and look left. You probably know someone who has gone through it. I do think it is something we should talk more about. Something people should not suffer in silence with, if they chose not to.

I was in no way prepared for losing a little life that had been growing inside me. My first pregnancy went pretty smoothly. With Grace, my concerns focused on the color of the paint for the nursery and the perfect "take home" outfit. Everything was joyful. My husband would lovingly talk to the baby… something I could barely hear this time.

The first time around, I truly was not aware of just how fragile the process of bringing a life into this world can be. I as not aware of how much responsibility a woman bears in making it through a pregnancy. It is awesome and yet, there are so many things that are totally out of your hands.

There are so many emotions after a loss. Should we try again? Can I handle it? Can we handle it? What if it happens again? The last question became the focal point of my fears. We decided to try again. We were quickly blessed. We got that second "blue line" on Christmas. I told so few people. I asked my husband not to tell anyone but our closest family members. Social media was out of the question. There would be no cute "little sister" arrival announcement for us.

I guess I didn't want to bear the thought of having to tell people if it "didn't work" again. More likely… I was so scared. I spent most of my pregnancy with Caroline… scared. Scared of not hearing a heartbeat. Scared of not feeling enough fetal kicks. Scared we wouldn't be able to give Grace a little sister. Scared but so desperately wanting to feel joyful. Scared but so happy at the same time.

Not only was I going through all of these emotions, I was working full time, trying to be a good mom to a four year old, and a wife. My emotions meant those around me, particularly my husband, couldn't experience that same joy he felt with my first pregnancy. I could see it in his eyes. I felt guilty.

But each week, she grew. Each week, the heartbeat was there. It was strong. She was strong. We learned it would be another girl. We had ultrasounds and saw her little face. Everyone tried to reassure me but still, I was trapped by the fear of losing her. I read too much. I read about what could go wrong, even up to delivery. Don't read that much. Take it from me.

I was lucky though. I had shoulders to cry on and other strong, amazing women in my life to lift me up. Women who have been through the same thing. Women who told me that I wasn't crazy and that feeling what I was feeling was "ok." I was also lucky that I had a husband, who despite his frustrations, supported me unconditionally.

My sister, who gave me great support, told me that, in the end, the weight on my chest and my fear wouldn't totally lift until I held her in my arms. She was right. She was right about so many things.

On August 14th, Caroline Rose came into this world. She had a head full of her Daddy's dark hair. She had all her fingers and toes. She was perfect. My fear lifted. My heart turned toward the new life she would bring to our family. How she would fulfill my dream of Grace having a sibling.

But just because they arrive in one piece… safe and sound… you never stop worrying. Elizabeth Stone's quote best sums it up. It's a quote I've loved for a long time and now fully understand.

“Making the decision to have a child - it is momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body.”
― Elizabeth Stone

Now my heart walks around outside of my body… in the beautiful little people that are Grace and Caroline. They are my greatest joys and the best gifts I will ever give to this world.

To all of you have who have suffered this loss, whether you were able to "try again" or not, I keep you in my thoughts and prayers. You are not alone.

My split screen life

Well, to say it has been awhile since I blogged, would be quite the understatement. I haven't blogged since 2012. I think life just got in the way. However, with the arrival of our beautiful, second daughter- Caroline- I think it might be time to start writing again. Caroline arrived about two weeks before her due date. But then again, I never thought I'd make it to my due date. Due dates are rarely right. She is happy, healthy and not sleeping more than two hours at a time. I had forgotten about that. I think the filing away of memories like no sleep and constant feedings is our body's way of tricking us into having more children. More on the "no sleep" later.... for today, I'll focus on one of my biggest observations thus far as a "mom of two." It has to be the constant dichotomy of our life. It is a beautiful blend of happiness and chaos all at once! Take our first family hike, for example. We wanted to join some friends to check out a state park with gorgeous views. It started off perfectly. Caroline in the baby carrier - totally shielded from the sun- for those of you worried about that :) Grace, A.J. and myself walking some trails and snapping a few lovely pictures. Here's one!

It looks so perfect... but perfect can turn into crazy in short order. We hiked further and met up with some great friends. The kids checked out some tide pools while I tried to feed the baby. Luckily, one of our dear friends stayed with me... because this only gets worse. There was the large diaper mess and the diapers were with A.J., who was wandering around the tidal pools. Oh, and there was barely any cell service too. So, a very messy diaper and she needed to eat. We found a quiet little bench area. I kept feeding her. Then the flies attacked. For some reason, they wanted to bite my ankles. Trying to be a "super mom", I figured, I could take the flies biting me - I just didn't want them to bite the baby. Well, you can only take it for so long. We started walking back. I then realized we've hiked a ways in. So, the baby was crying and still needed to eat. The nuttiness of the moment led me to feed her while walking through the state park, as she was shielded by a blanket, so as not to give the families and elderly folks walking by too much of a show. Oh and the flies didn't let up. Husbands and kiddos finally caught up. They needed a snack- which is not new for four year olds- they always need a snack. I needed to keep walking. It all ended well at our nice, air conditioned car but it hammered home the reality of how picture perfect things can look one minute... and then not so much, the next.

The dichotomy of our new reality extends into the more mundane moments too. Like this loving picture of our sweet Caroline. This, while just four feet away, my husband and Grace are screaming and playing games at the dining room table. Gone are the peaceful, serene moments that I had with our first daughter. This little girl is going to have to learn to sleep through blaring Disney music, Grace's off-key singing, lots of loud voices, and more sister kisses than she can count.

While not so peaceful, I wouldn't change it for the world. I am totally in love with my new, complete and crazy little family.