How We're Handling Quarantine

My feelings toward the quarantine have been like a slinky: up, down, up, down.

I feel grateful for the forced slowing down and more time together as a family. I don’t think I realized how badly we needed to change our pace.

I’ve also been overwhelmed with gratitude toward the thousands of people working so hard to keep the rest of us safe. I can’t stop picturing someone working around the clock in a lab coat at the CDC, trying to end this virus.

Other days, though, I feel anxious, lonely and stuck. If I think about staying home until June, it makes my head spin. It feels like spring and summer are getting sucked into a vacuum.

I thought I’d share a few ways we’re surviving quarantine. Please share anything you’re doing - habits, things you’re reading, etc. - in the comments if you have any tips. As they say, we’re in this together (:

Habits

1. As much as possible, we are keeping our normal routine. Same wake up time, same nap and bedtime for Mac, etc.

2. Chris and I are both getting time to work out alone each day. In our basement or outside, but it still makes a difference.

3. We are trying to give each other 15 extra minutes a day alone. That might be Chris going on a walk when he finishes work, or me making dinner while he takes Mac outside. We are trying to recognize that neither of us is getting our usual amount of alone time to decompress.

Goals

I’m not going to be someone who comes out of this knowing how to make duck confit or speak Italian. But, we did establish a few family goals:

1. We created a house bucket list. It included things like painting the basement, organizing our storage area, switching out our winter clothes, etc.

2. We are finally, finally going to practice having a Sabbath. We have talked about it for so long and it feels like this season lends itself to it.

3. We are trying to make things special. Easter, Chris’ birthday, Mac’s birthday and Mothers’ and Fathers’ day are coming up. We are going to have the attitude that it’s special to celebrate the three of us - though my heart aches at the thought of not seeing family. We’re going to make good meals, slow down, and celebrate the best we can to make these days feel full, not empty.

Podcasts

While organizing the basement and bee bopping around on walks, I’ve been loving:

1. Solve: It plays like you are a detective, listening to clues about mysteries. You try to solve who did it. It’s good!

2. Even the Rich: If you love (or even like) learning about the Royal family, this will not disappoint. Also, it’s funny!

3. Coffee & Crumbs: I loved the episodes about sex. I really enjoy hearing them talk and share advice on mothering in general.
   

Books

1. Finished up Sing, Unburied, Sing. So good! Sad, but not too sad.

2. Working on P.S. I Still Love You. Netflix made me do it!

3. Next up? Either Such a Fun Age, The Lies That Bind or Untamed. Let me know if you have loved any of them!

How are you surviving this season? We are taking any and all recs!

Some Thoughts on Motherhood

For a couple of days, Mac called himself “Map.” I asked him his name all of the time, just wanting to hear him say it, “Map, Map, Map.” Then, just like that, he was saying Mac. I rocked him tonight and asked again, just to be sure we’d really moved on from Map. And there is was, plain as day: Mac.

I try to be grateful for every change in him, knowing how lucky we are to have a healthy boy, who is growing and learning and changing. But for some reason, hearing him abandon Map so quickly made my heart break a little bit. I rocked him a few minutes longer, feeling nostalgic for the present. For who he is on this very day in March.

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I sometimes wonder if every mom loves her kids as much as I love Mac. And then, of course, it feels obvious. Of course they do. Then it hits me: all of these women are walking around, feeling this way all of the time? Like their heart is just walking on the sidewalk, carrying monster trucks and pretzels, waving at the neighbors?

It’s a vulnerable life, if you think about it.

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Mac recently started throwing tantrums. It felt like they came out of nowhere, though Toddler Wise tells me otherwise. So we’re learning a whole slew of things about what frustrates him, what he wishes he had the words to say.

Sometimes the tantrums make sense (see yesterday when he was exhausted from swim lessons and starving). Sometimes they make no sense at all (see last week when he was rested and had toys and snacks galore).

It’s the first season, since he was a newborn, that I sometimes feel in over my head. Am I disciplining him right? Does he respect us enough? Am I being stern enough? Too stern? Am I developing him into a gentle, kind, authority-respecting, but creative, positive, hard-working and energetic member of society!?

You can make yourself crazy.

I’ve recently tried to take the approach that if you care enough to make yourself crazy with questions, you’re probably doing an OK job.

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Mac helps me fold the laundry a lot. And by fold, I mean unfold. His favorite is to dive into the warm basket and announce each hot item. “Hot sleep sack!” “Hot lambie!” “Hot pants!” There’s really nothing like hearing a one-year-old say hot pants.

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Mac loves having his forearm rubbed. He asks me to do the left, then the right, then both at the same time. His tiny forearms almost make me tear up when I look at them. They’re so little, with no hair. I can’t believe someday they will look like a man’s arms.

We took him to a preschool on Tuesday, to decide if he should enroll in a twos class twice a week. He jumped right into the group, playing alongside the mostly 3-year-olds. He barely looked back at us the entire time we were there.

When we left, Chris said, “Well, I’m sold!” I looked at him, my mouth probably wide open. “You are!?” I asked with equal parts shock and awe. I was holding back tears the entire time, fighting the homesick feeling for my baby. How are both of the men in my life so ready for this when I’m not? I just kept thinking about his tiny forearms. They aren’t going to be tiny that much longer. What if he comes home from school one day and he doesn’t want me to rub them before nap time?

Everything changes so fast. Time is a thief. Babies don’t keep. Long days, short years. Ah! All of the cliches are just so true in motherhood.

How to Love Someone Well After a Miscarriage

I’ve been asked a lot, lately, about how to care for someone who is going through a miscarriage. I’ve hesitated to write about it because grief is so personal. What felt helpful and healing to me might not to you.

But after enough people asked the same question, it hit me: this is one of the very few silver linings of our losses. To be able to help people love their friends who are grieving better might be one of the main benefits of what we went through.

Recognizing each piece of advice below should be read through the filter of your friend’s personality, here are a few ways to love a couple well in the wake of a miscarriage.

1. Take food, send a small gift, or send a card. Leave it on the doorstep. Don’t ask them to talk, just let them know you are there, loving them and the baby they lost.

2. Pray for them and text them your prayers. I sobbed through text messages for days after our losses and believe, someday, I’ll see those words in Heaven. They carried me.

3. Remember their baby. It’s really easy - especially if you haven’t had a miscarriage - to want them to move on. We all feel better when grief ends. But the minute you find out you are pregnant, you begin dreaming of that baby. Of the name and the nursery and the sweet face and the gender. Losing that is heartbreaking; whether it is 48 hours or 14 weeks later need not matter. It feels like a death in your family. Different than a child or adult death, yes. But a major loss nonetheless.

4. If you have not had a miscarriage, don’t offer advice. Just let them know you are ready to listen at any moment.

5. Ask them if they want to talk about it. If they do, be a safe listening space. If they don’t, do not force it. Offer a distraction if that’s what they want. Everyone grieves at different paces and in different ways.

6. Don’t offer platitudes. I have learned that platitudes generally leave the speaker feeling better, but the recipient feeling worse.

7. If you think you might have a podcast, book, Instagram post, article, etc., that might be helpful, ask them if they would like to see it before sending it. Sometimes it feels helpful to read other people’s stories. Sometimes it can be haunting or panic-inducing. Check before you send it their way.

8. If you are pregnant, acknowledge it. Tell them it’s OK if it is hard for them to be around you, attend your baby shower, etc. Give them extra grace. Pregnancy is so, so visible, it can feel like it’s in your face in the wake of a miscarriage. When my friends acknowledged this, it changed everything. It made me feel safe to attend their showers, knowing there might be tears.

9. If you get pregnant and are going to share the news with them, tell them over text first. One of the hardest parts of our miscarriages is that I wanted to be (and was!) happy for my friends. But it’s SO much easier to hear it over text first, then call when you’re ready to celebrate.

10. Remember their due date. Text them on that day and let them know you’re thinking of them.

Our Right Now

I wrote this in October at the start of fall, but never posted it. I thought I’d share it today, as we near the start of spring. It’s amazing to see the things that have changed, the things that have stayed the same, and how our family has grown. If you find yourself in a stuck or painful season, I encourage you try out Emily P. Freeman’s practice (below!) of naming the season. It helped me process how I was feeling and see our reality, while also practicing hope and gratitude.

September was a blur. I wrote 10.3.19 down today and sat, for a moment, wondering where the month went. It was significant, but someday, I think, I will look back and barely remember the details.

I had another miscarriage on August 29. Chris ended his 10-year long job on August 30. I turned 33 a few days later. A week later, we started fertility testing. Then, the very next day, we left for our first week-long family vacation. It has been almost entirely highs and lows; a month that leaves you momentarily wondering what mundane feels like.

While at the beach, I met a girl from Indiana, who told me she was eight weeks pregnant. She said it the way only someone who has never had a miscarriage can. With confidence. Unscathed by the pain of loss, unafraid of what could happen. Like the way a younger woman talks about falling in love for the first time; never having had her heart broken. She doesn’t even know how vulnerable her position is. It’s the freest of free fall, before you know to brace for the bottom. It was beautiful and refreshing.

Hearing her say it so boldly felt like honey to my soul. I wanted her to shout it out loud. It was like sunshine and vanilla and fresh air all mixed together, pure happiness.

I’ve been deep in the miscarriage world this time around - hearing other women’s stories, comparing them to mine, mapping, counting, wondering, praying, begging, calculating. It feels like the only thing I think about and reminds me, so much, of when I was absolutely yearning to get married, with no husband in sight.

When I met Chris, I kept telling my therapist I wanted to be in free fall for him, but I was so afraid it wouldn’t work out. I was constantly bracing for impact. I knew how badly it could hurt if it all fell apart.

My friend, Robyn, told me that we are on holy ground right now. It’s a painful, formative space and we don’t know why we are in it, but, someday, we will look back and know it was sacred.

In her podcast, Emily P. Freeman encourages listeners to name the season they are in by calling out a few significant things. So I thought I’d do that, today, as we sit, waiting, waiting for a season to come.

• We are waiting and hoping for a baby.

• Chris is starting a new job.

• Mac is the most, most fun, wonderful thing we’ve ever known. He’s exploring, taking everything apart, wondering how it works.

• We are mourning what is lost and hopeful - albeit a little sheepishly - for what is to come.

• We are growing, deepening, coming together.

Today was, most likely, our last summery day. My car read 101 degrees. Saturday is a high of 65. The days are getting shorter. Mac’s room fills with darkness as I tuck him in each night. And while I’m inclined to hold on to summer forever, the darkening feels appropriate. Over the next few months, as we wait patiently for my body to be ready to conceive again, I’m praying for quietness and peace in my heart. I’m praying for trust and stillness and hope.