Thoughts on Motherhood, part 2

Mac is in his crib, singing at the top of his lungs. I'm working in the office, a light, warm wind blowing through the room. It's nearly 90 degrees outside but the breeze is making our house bearable. 

This morning, Mac must have sat on my lap 10 times. He walks up with a book or toy and sits right down, unaware that my space isn't his space, too. Today, as his full weight fell upon me, my lap getting smaller as the baby gets bigger, it hit me that, someday, he won't think of my lap as an extension of himself. He won't sit on it as the rightful owner, unaware that my body wasn't only created for his use. 

The baby is kicking now, as I type away. Mac's singing, this sweet kicking, these moments - I hope I don't forget them. I hope I never forget the feeling of Mac's weight upon me. I hope I never forget the way he sings, with so much confidence and certainty, "Now I said my A-B-SONG!" 

Last week I decided that two is my favorite age, which I also said at 6 months and 12 months and probably not 18. :) When I hold another newborn later this year, will I say it's my favorite, too?

There's this beauty in motherhood that each season can feel like the very best one, which fills me with joy and also anxiety - why does it have to go so quickly? Motherhood is constantly knowing you're going to miss it when it's gone, paired with an inability to do anything about it. It can almost make you crazy. 

If a genie really did grant me one wish, it would be to have a little bottle where I could go back in time and see Mac at various ages whenever I wished. A little sip of him as a newborn. A hit of him at 12 months. Moments, here and there, to taste a little bit of the past, while staying in the present, still moving forward. 

Someday he might be taller than me (though I'm pretty tall!). With arm hair and facial hair and a manly voice. Someday he won't sit on my lap or lay his head on my shoulder when I sing to him at night. Someday he won't say, "One more squeeze?" with the biggest smile at bedtime, already knowing one more hug is coming his way. It brings tears to my eyes just to type these words, to know these days are not forever. 

I know it's all about sinking into the present and enjoying each moment. I know it's about being grateful for each day that we get. I know all that. But today, I feel especially nostalgic for the sweet moment we're in, just the three of us Saxons with one - whom we've yearned for so deeply - on the way in 16 weeks. 

So here's to today, for what it is and all that we have. 

Pregnancy After Loss

Last week, I shared on Instagram that Chris and I are expecting a baby in September. We are thrilled, overjoyed and feeling so very grateful.

I wrote this post at 17 weeks. Today, I’m almost 21 weeks and, although I still have moments of anxiety around this pregnancy, I do feel more reassured. I wanted to share this post to tell you: anxiety after loss is so normal. But, it does get a little better each week.

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After our second miscarriage, I became convinced I’d have a third. This wasn’t some sort of premonition or divine knowledge, but, instead, anxiety, masking itself as self-preservation. So when we did, and my sister, Ashley, said, “Well, now you’ve had your three. You’re done. No more,” it felt like intense relief. I whispered her words to myself over and over as we began to try again.

I knew I was pregnant even before I missed my period. It was my fourth time getting pregnant in 11 months; you get to know your body pretty well. We were in Florida and all of the signs were there, but I willed myself not to think it, not to even dream that dream. I’d prayed so hard to have a baby in 2020 and felt vulnerable to the idea that it could come true.

When we got home, I waited days to take the test. I wanted a bold, solid line. No questions, no faint blue. When I finally took one and saw those beautiful lines, I was filled with instant gratitude and joy, followed by instant fear.

I wanted my body to hold on to this baby like nothing I’d ever wanted before. I willed this one to last, not to slip through me like its siblings did in 2019.

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When Mac was born, my niece kept calling him a “born, born baby,” thinking she was calling him a newborn baby. We all got a kick out of it and started calling Mac our born, born baby.

When I went the doctor this time and they confirmed it was my “fifth pregnancy, one born, three ‘spontaneous abortions’” (aka the worst term ever for a miscarriage), I thought of Della, her words more accurate than we knew. One born baby. I sat there praying, hoping 2020 would make two.

I still feel confused as to whether I should call this our fifth baby or our second. It feels disloyal to the ones before it to say it’s our second. But it would be confusing to call it our fifth. I mostly avoid it altogether.

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Trying to get a bump pic, Mac just trying to go swim :)

Every night, when I get in bed I lie awake and wait for the baby to start moving. Chris is always asleep first and it’s my time, my moment, to be alone with our baby. I feels it’s tiny flutters, a gentle reminder that it’s in there, still growing. 

In a lot of ways, this is what this pregnancy looked like: me, seeking confirmation that the baby is healthy. Me, needing reassurances and reminders daily that this precious life will really be joining us. Am I sick I enough? Exhausted enough? Showing enough? 

Each appointment, especially in the first 16 weeks, had me terrified. Before each one, I’d practice hearing the doctors say “We’re so sorry…” I’d look at my schedule, wondering how I could fit in another - a fourth - D&C in the coming days. I felt so disloyal to the baby inside me as I thought these things, but I couldn’t stop my mind from racing. I almost always cried each morning before an appointment, telling Chris I was upset about something random, when, in actuality, I was terrified for the appointment.

I kept waiting for the anxiety to go away. When would I simply celebrate this little life in the way it deserved? Every breath of joy felt shortened by the anxiety chasing it down, swallowing the words.

Good friends who have walked through similar stories told me the truth: the anxiety doesn’t go away. You’re on your knees, every single day, praying for this baby. You don’t stop looking for signs of confirmation. You don’t stop worrying.

But I know now, at 17 weeks, what I didn’t know at 7 weeks: the anxiety does lessen. But only with time.

At 13 weeks, I thought there would be a magic switch and, ta da, the anxiety would be gone. But it wasn’t like that. It is a loosening, a little each day. A hose slowly turning off. What was once a full blast becomes a steady stream. My hope is that, eventually, it will become a drip, drip, drip, a quiet background noise you can almost ignore.

At times I feel guilty, for still worrying. Is my faith not strong enough? Other times I feel sad for this baby. Why must this little one’s life be preceded by loss and worry, when Mac’s was only joy?

I’m trying to honor my feelings, letting them soar through me, without judgment. I’m trying to recognize life’s truth, that loss does not lessen joy, that they can coexist.

At times, I’ve mourned the simplicity of Mac’s pregnancy and who I was before 2019. When I found out I was pregnant last March, I thought, “I am the luckiest girl in the whole world.” It felt like we’d pressed an easy button. A sibling for Mac, 19 months his junior, and we’d barely tried! It felt like we’d won the lottery.

As we walked through 2019, waiting longer for this second baby, the process becoming harder and harder, I realized I’d never have that pregnancy innocence again.

I know, when I hold this baby in September, I will feel like the luckiest girl in the world. To touch its tiny fingers, to smell its sweet skin. I don’t doubt that it will feel like winning the lottery. But I will never again walk through a pregnancy with so little doubt, so little worry as I did with Mac.

I’m learning, though, that life isn’t about ease and simplicity. It’s not about feeling lucky. It’s about growing, changing, becoming more empathetic and going deeper into who you are. It’s about honoring the journey and recognizing every step helps us become stronger and wiser, going deeper in our faith and more able to connect with one another.

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My due date for this sweet baby is September 29. We ask with so much hope, vulnerability and gratitude for prayers for this little life. For prayers to hold this sweet, rainbow baby in our arms in 19 weeks. For its lungs to be filled with breath, its healthy body to be filled with life. To hear its cries as it enters the world, unknowing how long we’ve been waiting for it, how much we’ve prayed for it. How deeply, deeply it is wanted.

Thoughts for Today

It’s 7:40 and Mac is laughing in his crib, making jokes with Lambie. I need to start his breakfast, get him up. But this time alone feels precious.

We’ve found a rhythm, somewhat. It feels like the changing tide - you know it will come each time, but it takes a little side-stepping, a little adjusting. Our days require no homeschooling, though we are working on the alphabet and toying with potty training. Mostly, we spend them outside: by the river, long walks in search of tractors, and looking for the cool rocks in our driveway.

After 1.5 years of talking about it, I broke down and ordered a sandbox. I’m astonished by the amount of sand required to fill this little square.

I’m surprised by a lot, lately. How overly worried I feel about my sister-in-law, who’s an ER nurse in Atlanta. How worried I feel about my brother, with asthma. How much alone time I was actually getting before this, unaware that errands here-and-there and my daily trip to the gym filled my cup so abundantly.

I miss going to church. I feel sad about Easter without it. I miss hugging and the mental freedom we had before. It’s hard to explain to Mac why he can’t play with the kids on our street and hug the dogs that have become his friends. I miss seeing family and friends and planning trips and the joys of spring and early summer. I miss patios with margaritas and friends. And sports. And dinners out. The little and big things alike.

I can’t think beyond today. I’m choosing to see only the hours in front of me: from now, 7:44 a.m., to Mac’s nap at 12. And then, we will see from nap until his bedtime. There’s no dreaming of weekend plans, or scheduling things for Thursday. It’s just simply, today.

I can’t help but wonder if, to a degree, there’s something healthy happening here: living in the present, for today only. Being grateful for the hours we have, finally understanding we don’t know what tomorrow will hold. We only get today.

I’ve also wondered a lot about people during this quarantine: are you still making your bed? Cleaning your house more or less? Putting on makeup? Are there fewer burglaries, since everyone is at home? Do you say please to Alexa, too? (OK this is one I’ve just wondered for years and thought I’d sneak in.)

My mind is always going, wondering how everyone is doing during this time, which is uniting us together, binding us through a common enemy, while also siloing us off, sending us all home.

It is a time like no other. Chris told me we could get a Peloton for the next quarantine and I couldn’t help but laugh. Let’s hope there’s no next time. But if there is, yes, we are ordering a Peloton.

January Books, Podcasts and Other Loves

For a few months, I thought winter was going to forfeit its seat this year, finally relenting to my lifelong wish to go from fall to spring. But here we are, the last full week of January, and it finally decided to show up. I suppose the daffodils sprouting in our yard and the bumblebees buzzing around were a sign we needed a cold snap.

The start of the year has felt so hopeful for our family. I’m reminding myself daily that, even if I’m not pregnant, we are one day closer to a second baby. I have no idea how or what it will look like along the way, but I’m trying to stay present and approach each day with open hands.

We spent last weekend in Florida for Chris’ grandad’s 90th birthday. It was such a sweet weekend and we got to introduce Mac to his great grandpa. Four generations of Saxon men in one room! It was beautiful.

Books

I’ve been reading a lot this month, trying to get in bed early each night. Embracing those short hours of daylight, you could say. I read This Tender Land, which was incredible and I highly recommend, especially if you liked Where the Crawdads Sing. Right now, I’m reading Bringing Down the Duke, about which I’ve yet to decide how I feel. I’m also listening to The Dutch House (Audible version), which is narrated by Tom Hanks and - so far - incredible. Anything Tom Hanks touches really does turn to gold. Coincidentally, I tried to read Waiting for Tom Hanks and couldn’t get through it.

Podcasts

I’ve gotten hooked on Food, We Need to Talk. Also, Blood Ties and That Sounds Fun.

Other Loves

We’ve been buying our groceries through Imperfect Produce, which I’ve really liked. They have their imperfections, if you will, as a grocery delivery service. But overall we love the quality of the products and that they are reducing food waste. We got amazing feta because the label had a typo and delicious salmon because it was cut the wrong shape. The way food is wasted is so scary and buying from Imperfect Produce sort of feels like recycling - something small we can do to make a difference.

I’ve also been ordering a lot of products on Thrive Market, which means I am rarely going to the grocery. It’s weird! :) I’m love, loving Thrive. It has been an incredible experience and allows us to get better prices for high-quality ingredients. A few of my favorite purchases have been: Sprouted Spelt Flour and Cacao Nibs, both of which I used to make these delicious cookies. I also got the chickpea “bread” crumbs, which I’m going to use to make spicy chicken tenders.

After a lot of debate, we recently changed from the ScanPan to the Xtrema Ceramic Skillet. We got the ScanPan for our wedding and have absolutely loved it, but ever since having Mac, I’ve been nervous about it. They say their nonstick surface doesn’t leach below 600-degrees, but it was stressing me out. We LOVE the Xtrema! Something about ceramic makes me feel hardcore, too. Like running in a snowstorm.

Anyway, those are some of the updates we’ve made around the house in the new year. I hope your 2020 is off to a wonderful, hopeful start!