Walking to the Beach from the Cottage, Summer 2008, Age 4
Walking to the Beach from the Cottage, Summer 2007, Age 3
Walking to the Beach from the Cottage, Summer 2006, Age 2
Still Too Little to Walk to the Beach from the Cottage, Summer 2005, Age 1
I had an incredibly healthy and active pregnancy. Once I got over the initial shock of being pregnant I did what I do in times when I find myself in the midst of the unknown: I started reading as many books as I could on the subject. I read books about pregnancy, pregnancy nutrition and cookbooks, labor and delivery, and breastfeeding. From the start, even during the “morning sickness” stage (what a misnomer – whoever named it that had obviously never been pregnant – more like ‘queasy-nauseous-all-day-and-all-night-sickness’), even during the gaining-a-pound-a-day-stage, even during the late pregnancy aches and pains stage, through all the utter exhaustion of being pregnant with twin three year old boys and a demanding career… through it all, it honestly felt really wonderful to me to be experiencing pregnancy.
Having been immersed in the adoption world for so long I have many friends who have gone through infertility. For me, it felt like a real privilege to be able to experience what it is to be pregnant. It also felt great to be, for once, doing something so physical. Having been immersed in the world of academe for so long it was nice to finally be focused so much on the body instead of the mind. The timing was perfect in this sense; I had spent the past thirteen years working toward the goal of tenure, and in the second month of my pregnancy I was officially granted tenure. Two weeks later, trying not to laugh, I promptly announced that I was pregnant and would be taking the following fall semester off. It felt like I had been given license to come up for air and just breathe – and the pregnancy made the breathing feel even more real to me, even more sensational. The third trimester was, for me, the best. I hadn’t really ‘shown’ until then, but starting around February I began to be visibly and obviously pregnant. I felt more alive than I’ve ever felt. I loved moving and living in the world as a very pregnant woman. Most people I encountered in those final few weeks commented to me about my appearance and my level of activity. Everyone said I “looked great, for being so pregnant” (which I decided early on to just take as a compliment!), and everyone raved about how active I was (which I ignored when I sensed that they meant I should really just sit down with my feet up). I am glad that I was able to keep the blog during my pregnancy because it will help me to remember all that we did, and some of what I was feeling, during those nine months.
I was determined that if at all possible, I wanted to have as natural a childbirth as I could. I knew, however, that I wanted to do it in a hospital. It felt safer to me that way. Braydon was fully on board with this. All along we felt very comfortable and confident with my OB doctors. And we had a wonderful experience with our Lamaze class. My belly was always relatively small, but as the due date grew closer I began to appear more and more “ready to pop!” Everyone — from close friends and family, to strangers on the street, to my obstetricians — was telling me that I was “all baby!” I had no serious pregnancy complications, no real health problems, etc. Everything seemed on target for a natural delivery either on or before the due date. The due date came and passed and the days started to drag forward. I worked hard to assure my doctors that I did not want to be induced unless it was an absolute last resort. I was showing all the normal first-time-pregnancy signs of impending labor, and we were all hopeful that I’d go into labor on my own soon. I remember thinking each day that “this was the day!” and then thinking each night, “o.k., this is really the night!” I was so hopeful that it would happen at any moment. And so disappointed after each moment that it hadn’t.
When I was fully two weeks past my due date I started to feel in my heart that I was not going to go into labor. It was no surprise to me when Braydon and I sat in my doctor’s office and were told, in no uncertain terms, that “the standards of practice of the American Obstetrics Association will not allow for us to let this go any longer.” They wanted me to go straight to the hospital to be induced, but I asked if I could go home and have dinner with my boys first and they reluctantly agreed. So, I was to be induced beginning at 8:00 that night. I remember I felt very foggy and hazy for the next few hours. Braydon and I went to the grocery store so that I could buy what I needed to make one of our favorite family dinners that night. We arrived home and I told Kyle and Owen the plan. We ate pasta with turkey sausage and broccoli rabe for dinner and – trying to prepare the boys – we talked at length about what would happen over the next few days. My parents were there already, thank God, and I felt completely comfortable about leaving the boys at home with them while Braydon and I left for the hospital.
We had barely made it out of the driveway before the tears started to pour down my face and down my neck, soaking the collar of my shirt. I was so deeply sad that I would not have the natural childbirth that I had hoped for. I felt like everything I had prepared for was being pulled away from me. I did not want it this way. I remember saying over and over to Braydon: “This wasn’t supposed to be this way. This is not how it is supposed to be.” I needed to mourn that loss before I could move on in my mind. About halfway to the hospital I remember driving up a hill, the evening sky was glorious, and I looked out across corn fields of deep spring almost summer. Suddenly it all looked so incredibly, incredibly beautiful to me. I looked over at Braydon and suddenly felt such a huge relief come over me. I wiped my tears and I felt myself move forward to a new place. It occurred to me that we’d be bringing a new baby home the next time I was on this road. I remembered deep in my soul how very much I had been longing for a newborn baby. I was suddenly so very excited about my baby. And for the first time, ever, it felt truly real to me: that we were going to have a sweet baby girl that would be all ours and that we were giving our precious boys the sibling that they so desperately wanted. I remembered the feeling in my heart that had become so familiar: that this baby was the completion of our family, that it was exactly right no matter how she came to us, and that we were so ready to begin this next chapter of our lives.
When we arrived at the hospital I felt confident and strong and peaceful.
And that – confident and strong and peaceful – is how I felt for each and every hour of the next several days.
I remember not knowing what to expect when they started the Pitocin drip into my IV at noon the next day. I had been told by many friends how horribly painful and just plain terrible Pitocin inductions were. My mother had gone through it when she was in labor with me, and I had heard the horror stories my whole life. My doctor (who knew how committed I was to a natural labor and delivery) had explicitly explained to me to “prepare myself” because “being induced is exponentially more painful than a natural labor” and that it was “very unlikely that I wouldn’t be wanting an epidural.” I understood. I knew I had a very high pain tolerance. But I was expecting excruciating mind-numbing pain. The mind-numbing part is what I was waiting for – I had made the decision, and had told Braydon, that I wanted to be as fully present as possible for the entire experience. When the pain became mind-numbing – truly mind numbing so that I was not able to be present and engaged in what was happening – that then is when I’d be ready for pain drugs. That time never came.
I remember the nurses and doctors and residents and medical students asking me over and over if I was ready for the epidural. When I’d refuse it they’d offer me other drugs, and I’d refuse. I was told numerous times that they’d never seen a woman labor on this high level of Pitocin without drugs. I remember nurses coming in “just to see this!”, as if I was some sort of case to be documented in the medical archives. I remember one nurse telling me that she’d been an OB Nurse for twenty years and had never witnessed a woman on Pitocin this high without an epidural. Another nurse told me that she didn’t think it had ever happened in the history of that hospital. Finally my doctor asked me why I wasn’t taking the epidural. I remember saying, “Because I’m waiting for it to get really bad.” He said, “This is as bad as it is going to get! It doesn’t get any more painful than this!” I was completely shocked. I remember saying, “Oh! Then I’m just going to keep going!”
I have never been more fully present for any experience in my entire life. Although now it is all sort of blurry what I remember most was how real it was and how much in it I was. I know it sounds strange, but I genuinely loved the experience of it – the feeling of the contraction coming, of the wave rising, of the intensity building, of the pain expanding and then diffusing a bit before it would quickly spike back up again. I was so focused. I remember saying to Braydon, “I am so grateful to be able to experience this.” I remember feeling truly that way; like it was such a gift to be able to do this. Throughout the entire time I felt completely connected to Braydon, fully trusting of him, entirely in tune with him. I remember my mom being totally surprised with how I was doing this labor. I remember my dad staying in the room for long stretches of time and making me laugh. I loved that Braydon and my parents could see me doing this, because I felt that it was the truest representation of me.
I remember feeling thankful for everyone and everything in the room. Not just my parents and Braydon, but also the doctors and nurses and the equipment and all the monitors and machines and the big windows and the pillows and the ice water. I felt so glad to be in a place that felt so safe to me because it allowed me – I think for the first time in my entire life – to truly focus entirely and completely on myself for an extended period of time.
At one point they lost the baby’s heart rate. Her heart rate had shown some signs of distress, but at this point they actually lost it completely. Doctors and nurses came running and the room was suddenly full. My body was being jolted and prodded and tugged at. I don’t remember much about it except that I was fully aware of what was happening and I was deeply afraid. I remember my mother on one side of me holding one hand and Braydon on the other side holding my other hand. I remember staring up into Braydon’s eyes on my left side. Our eyes locked for the entire time and he was reassuring me that it was all o.k. Once they got the heart rate back and things settled down I broke down into a heavy, heavy sobbing cry. I was scared the baby had died, and was able to feel now – as I had not before – how completely I wanted this baby to live; how completely I would be devastated if she didn’t make it; how deeply I already loved my baby girl. It was a turning point.
After having been in the hospital for over 24 hours and having been on hard-core Pitocin for 9 hours I knew that something was wrong. I remember saying to Braydon, “I feel like we’re on the road headed straight to a c-section.” I remember I said it calmly and peacefully. I was o.k. with it. I had turned a corner. Nothing now mattered except that she was born and that she was alive to be held in my arms.
Lying on the operating table was surreal. I remember thinking it was just as I had seen it on Discovery Health channel television shows. Except that I wasn’t scared. I was very much at peace with it all. I knew Braydon would want to watch and I remember being surprised with myself when I told him to stand up – to not worry about me – and to just watch and see. I was so glad for him that he could be able to do that. I could hear the snapping of his camera above my head. I could hear everything that everyone was saying. I heard my doctor when he discovered and pointed out the inside of my pelvis to the residents and explained to them the problem: my pelvis was misshapen and my body would never be able to deliver any baby vaginally. And I heard him as he had them inspecting the placenta: that it was severely depleted and the baby would not have made it much longer. These things came as a huge wave of relief to me as I laid there feeling them working on my numb body and as I then heard my baby screaming. I felt utterly at peace.
I remember telling Braydon to stay with our baby, that I was fine. I watched as he moved out of my line of vision to see her. I remember hearing her cry, so loud. It filled me with such relief and such joy and such completion.
Meera Grace.
I remember in the recovery room when the pediatric nurse brought her to me. I held her for the first time and it felt so completely right. I look at pictures from that moment now and am shocked by how little the photos resemble my memory of it. To me she looked like the most perfectly beautiful thing I had ever seen and I felt like the strongest woman that had ever lived and my connection to Braydon felt 100% pure and intact. It was the exact same way that I had experienced my first meeting of Kyle and Owen. Exactly the same only completely different.
Meera was sweet and mellow and good right from the start. I remember feeling blessed. And I have been feeling blessed by her ever since. She is two months old today and my baby girl is everything – absolutely everything – I had hoped for and longed for.
There is no mystery to life when you stand there like that, your totally dependant baby looking up at you. Life is just that, the love you feel for your family when everyone is at the most vulnerable.
***
In August 2007, when I ran into the grocery store to get the pregnancy test, and event when it came back positive and we were so excited, I never could have imagined standing there in that moment.
In early May the Doctor had said that the baby might come any time, but that Heather might also go up to her due date. Heather had really really wanted to get past the boys birthday before the baby came. Not just the party, which was great, but also their birthday. She wanted it to be their birthday and not overshadowed by the baby’s arrival.
When we got through May 8th, we were all ready. All of us. It felt like the baby would arrive any second. Heather started to have some more Braxton Hicks, but nothing. Then the due date came and went. We were all starting to feel very anxious and ready for the baby to come, We went out to lunch at Panera on a Saturday and the boys made friends with a little boy when we were sitting outside. Heather started to have more consistent, but weaker contractions. We thought it would be that night. It was not.
On May 20th, we had an appointment with the Doctor who told us she was not dilated or anything – nothing. We went ahead and made an appointment for the next week, thinking that it was silly to do so. The week came and went – some minor contractions, but nothing really. The boys were struggling with waiting. They expressed over and over how they wanted to baby to be there and why wouldn’t she just come out. Heather and I could totally understand. The house was ready, we were ready.
It felt so surreal. Almost like we were not going to have a baby. We went about our life, on hold. Everything on hold. We didn’t go anywhere, we didn’t do anything. We didn’t even go an hour away. But it also didn’t feel like it was going to happen.
And we wanted it to be natural. That her body would kick into gear on its own. That the baby would be delivered vaginally that Heather would labor like women throughout history.
***
The weekend before, Don and Janet had decided they couldn’t wait any longer and they came down. The plan had been for them to get the call and make the 8 hour drive, but with the 2 week wait, it was time. And it was good they did.
On May 27th we went to the follow up OB appointment. Nothing was happening. They put Heather on a NST (Non-invasive stress test), where they monitor the baby’s heart and the contractions. Heather’s were about 20 min apart, but not too strong. And they would stop; it wasn’t the real thing.
The Doctors determined that it was time to move things along, that we couldn’t wait anymore. In the OB practice there are several Doctors and we had been playing them a bit against each other to keep from them insisting that Heather be induced. They were actually surprised it had gone this far. We were told to be at St Luke’s at 8 PM.
We went home and got ready. It felt so strange. That the baby was coming, it was sure now. There was no stopping it. We were excited, but Heather was a little sad that she was going to be induced. We talked about it and she started to feel better.
We had a great dinner with the boys and got them to bed.
***
After everything was ready – Don and Janet at the house, everything packed: clothes, comfy stuff, snacks, pillows, computer (for blogging) and camera, we got in the volvo and drove off around 7:30. We arrived and 8 and went straight in. At 42 weeks, Heather was so big and uncomfortable, she kind of waddled in. It was a clear, beautiful night and we went from the little parking garage into the main lobby and to the 3rd floor for the baby center. The hospital seemed so quiet.
But the maternity ward was full, so they sent us to overflow. The nurse took us down the hall. It was an older section of the hospital and weirdly quiet. There was another couple being admitted as well – they spoke only Spanish, but we could tell they were nervous too. We were in a private room and they were in a different private room. We sat and hung out.
The nurse made Heather wear the hospital gown, Heather didn’t want to, but put it on, and rebelliously put on a sweat shirt over it too – you go girl!
We waited for quite some time, it was a full moon and the ward was totally full. Finally around 1 AM, they were ready to get rolling: give Heather some medicine internally to soften her cervix and maybe even start labor. The discomfort was almost immediate – and it was pretty intense. It was time for Tylenol with Codeine to help. I slept a bit, Heather dozed a little, but not much in general.
In the morning, we were moved back into the main part of the baby center – into our labor room. The nurses were great – so nice, so helpful – so thoughtful. Heather’s first Doctor, Chris wanted things to start slowly – the first round of medicine, Cervidil, had not done anything – Heather was barely 1 CM dilated. Around noon, he started the pitocin to induce labor at 2 ml/hr.
A little while later, Dr. Ron Kriner took over (shift change) and wanted to get things rolling much more aggressively. He ramped up the IV drip. The contractions started immediately and were pretty intense. The nurses had the external baby monitors on. They increased the dosage every 15 minutes from 2 ml/h all the way up to 28 ml/hr.
The thing about pitocin, is that since the labor is artificial, the body does not create endorphins to reduce the pain – which is a long way of saying that being induced is really painful. But Heather took no pain killer – no medicine at all. That is really incredible. At one point the nurse looked at her and asked her if she wanted anything for the pain. She said no and the nurse said “Honey, I can’t tell you what to feel, but most women would be screaming right now!” Heather was totally focused. We worked on the Lamaze breathing to keep her loose. I held her hand and coached her to relax and breathe.
The only thing she ate the whole time was Italian ice (the lemonade, not the red stuff). There was a little fridge in the main room of the baby center. They had that in there. Don and Janet brought me Panera for lunch, but Heather did not have anything. For supper Don went out and got Red Robin – I had a bacon cheeseburger – but I didn’t taste it.
Since St Lukes is a teaching hospital, and Heather was definitely the most interesting thing going on there that night, there were a number of residents and medical students coming and going. And in addition to that there was a new computer system being installed. Now – some people would have balked at that – but we like having all the extra attention!
Alex took the boys for the day and Janet and Don came to the hospital. They were so supportive the whole time. Janet would standby with Heather while I took a break or ate something.
After 9 hours – yes, 9 hours of pitocin induced labor without drugs of any kind – the Doctor was pretty sure it was going to be a Cesarean delivery. I checked in with him – with the anesthesiologist, residences and medical student in tow – and grilled him on why we should or should not. Nobody should take surgery lightly and I wanted to make sure it was the right thing. His concern was that after 9 hours there had been NO real progress in the labor, and that counter-intuitively to me, the baby’s heartbeat was too stable, meaning she was getting tired – and that was not good. It was a round 10 PM on the 28th. Things moved very fast once the decision was made.
Heather was unbelievable, totally amazing. I knew she could do it, there was never any doubt in my mind. And she was glad she had labored, but now it was time to have our baby.
***
After Heather got ready and they gave me scrubs to change into, they jokingly asked Heather if she wanted to walk down or ride down to the operating room. She didn’t realize it was a joke and told them she wanted to walk. They were kind of taken aback, but went with the flow. What a crazy entourage that was! Heather leading the way, pushing her IV stand with several nurses, residents, medical students tagging along pushing the gurney.
They stopped me outside the operating room and gave me a hat and facemask to put on. Heather disappeared into the OR. I waited for what felt like forever. A janitor walked by pushing a mop and bucket and cheerfully said hello and wished me good luck. I was worried they had started with out me.
Finally the nurse ushered me into the OR. I hadn’t been able to figure out how to get my facemask on, so she helped me. It was all hurry hurry hurry. When I entered the room the tone was very serious – all business. The lightness and relaxed atmosphere from before was gone.
In the center of the room Heather lay on the table with a large blue screen/shield just below her chin like a fan, blocking her view. She had a operating hair net/hat on. Above her head the anesthesiologist stood a few feet away talking to his resident. There was a little stool for me on Heather’s right side next to her head, also behind the screen. There was Dr Kriner on the left by Heather’s abdomen, Dr. Puja Gupta (a resident) on her right by her abdomen, and Carl the medical student by Heather’s right leg. There were several nurses around as well.
I sat down and said hi to Heather. She looked up at me. If the moment hadn’t been so intense and fast, I would have been thinking about how lonely she looked. But I also felt so incredibly connected to her, it was amazing. Although she was the one being operated on, I felt like we were really there together, doing this together.
It was 10:19 PM. Within maybe 20 seconds of my arrival I heard the Doctor say “start” and they were off. I stood up to look over the screen. I bent down to ask Heather if she minded that I look – I didn’t want her to feel left out. She just told me to tell her what was happening. I also took out the camera. They told me to wait to take pictures – apparently they did not want me taking pictures of the incision. I watched them make the incision. They pulled up on the one side and down on the other. I heard the doctors calling out instructions to each other. One hand, two hands, four hands.
I kept bending down and telling her what I saw. I kept saying it was incredible. She couldn’t move anything and she was so calm and doing great.
I saw Meera’s head. It was just sitting inside like she was napping. It was perfect. They tucked their hands under her head and began to pull. They pulled her pretty hard and she started to come out. Then she was all the way out and they were cutting her umbilical. They held her up and the Doctor told me to take a picture. I had already taken about 50 before he said that. From the time of the first incision to the time she came out it was 55 seconds. She was born at 10:21.
***
Meera’s body was just a full blown baby. It was incredible. She was a little blue. The Doctor held her up by her neck and body. Her little arms and legs shook a bit. And then she cried. She was alive and here! It was the most unbelievable sound I have ever heard. Pure and perfect. I heard her draw in her breath and let it out announcing her arrival. She drew short little breaths and cried. I told Heather she was perfect. I will forever remember the exact sound. Her cry sounds different now than it did then.
They handed the baby to the nurse and she rushed her off to the warmer, I conferred with Heather and went after her. I felt bad leaving Heather there, but I felt like I needed to be with our baby. Heather felt the exact same way.
Meera was under the warmer, crying and crying. And when I got there, and talked to her, she stopped. The nurse had me cut the rest of the umbilical (not for any medical reason) and got her toweled off. I took pictures of this perfect little baby. I put my hand on her little chest and reassured her. They swaddled her and we went back in to the OR with Heather.
The nurse handed me Meera and I held her for the first time. I sat on the stool next to Heather and asked the nurse to take a picture of us. Heather started to cry when she saw the baby. It was incredible. I did not cry, but am starting to as I write this.
They took Meera back out and put her in a little incubator/warmer and started to roll her to the nursery. I went with her, and they finished sewing Heather up and took her to recovery. We rolled out into the main hallway, Meera, me and the nurse. We saw MorMor and MorFar who were thrilled to see the baby. I went into the nursery with my baby girl.
***
They rolled Heather out of the OR and into recovery. I saw her go through the hallway, but I was with the baby. I ran out and met her in recovery. When I got there, it was weird, her whole body had the shakes and she was so pale. It was a little unnerving except that Heather was in a great mood and was doing great. I held her hand and kissed her. She had done great.
It was around midnight when she had stopped shaking enough that they brought Meera in. She was crying and Meera nursed for the first time, it was amazing to see mother and daughter in that moment – the first time for her to eat. They both did it perfectly. Even with the wires and the exhaustion, Heather was incredibly beautiful in that moment.
During labor, I had talked it over with the nurse and they gave us the best, most private, largest recovery room in the ward. And it had a nice view of the back – all trees and green. It was perfect. Around 2 am we rolled in there and they took the baby back to the nursery and Heather got a little sleep and so did I. Turns out I can sleep through a lot, because they brought the baby in for a couple feedings and I slept through it.
It was wonderful and magical, even though our dreams of a natural childbirth had not come to pass. And it’s just as well that we were in a hospital since it turns out that Heather’s pelvis is misshapen and the Doctor said she would never have and will never be able to have a baby vaginally.
***
The next day Kyle and Owen came in and saw their sister for the first time. They held her and loved her from the moment they saw her – it was incredible.
A couple days later we were discharged. We rolled out of the hospital – Heather in the mandatory wheel chair and went home, a family of 5.
***
The birth of Meera Grace is one of the most incredible and wonderful things I have witnessed and one of the most amazing experiences of my life. Different than adopting Kyle and Owen and no less powerful and wonderful. We are so lucky that everything went so well and that everyone is healthy and happy. We have the best family in the world.
We had a great day today. And I don’t even have to write about it because in addition to giving us a great day together, the Petsch family has given me a night off from blogging too! Aren’t they the best?! 😉 Their post is so perfect there is no need to duplicate it, so just click here. Not only did we get to hang out with Lori, Shelli, and Zoe — some of our favorite people on the planet — but Auntie Sabrina came up from Philly for the day too. Kyle and Owen seem to become more and more over-the-top enamored with her each time they see her!!!!!! It is really nice for B & me whenever Sabrina comes to visit by herself and we don’t have to ‘share’ our time with her with other extended family. It is especially nice to watch K & O developing such a great relationship with their aunt… a really beautiful thing for us to see. And watching K & O play with Zoe today was awesome — it is sooooo fun to see them play together. It is like watching three little spark plugs all ignite at once and buzz around like crazy bouncing off of each other and sending sparks flying all over the place. All three of the Johnson-McCormick bambinos were sound asleep in their beds by 7:45 tonight — exhausted from a near perfect summer day (would have been perfect if the weather had cooperated—- the thunderstorms sorta disqualify it from being a perfect day). Days like this are so sweet. I wish I could capture them and store them up in glass jars to take off the shelf and open up months later on bleak winter days.
[posted by Heather (even though it says this is posted by Braydon) -using Braydon’s computer tonight because he’s using mine]
We have a summer tradition of eating pesto for dinner about once a week during the summer. I grow basil plants in pots and make pesto whenever the plants need to be cut back (which is usually about once a week during July and August). I’ve been doing this for many years — since long before K & O were even a glimmer in our eye. Braydon and I love pesto in the summer. And now the boys love it too. It is always sad for us as the basil plants fizzle out in September. Then we wait all fall/winter/spring for Pesto Season to begin again. Right now we’re at the height of our pesto eating craze (eating it at least every seven days) and we just can’t get enough of it. For the boys, though, part of the love-of-pesto is actually — at the root of it — their love of parmesan cheese. If we’d let them, they’d eat fresh parmesan by the poundful. The sharper the better. The more aged the better. The more expensive the better (thus why we don’t let them eat it by the poundful). They’ve been lovin’ the parm since their first Pesto Season (summer of 2005, their first summer with us at home, when they were 1-year-olds toddling around with chunks of pungeant parmesan in their fists). Now the big deal for them is that we let them grate the fresh parm onto their pesto themselves. They grate it and grate it until their piles of parmesan are almost as big as their piles of pesto pasta beneath it. Meera, for now at least, just watches from her Bjorn chair perched atop the dinner table as the four of us eat. But a year from now we fully expect her to be loving Pesto Season just like the rest of us. (P.S. Just because you might just ask… the salad is another summer fav here: romaine, fresh peaches, and croutons tossed with Italian vinaigrette).
Kyle’s special lovey, his ‘Honey Bunny,’ has been with Kyle since we gave it to him the day we met him. He slept with ‘Hon Bun’ that first night in the hotel in Haiti… and has never slept without it since. He’s also never sat in an airplane without it, never taken a nap without it, never driven home from a weekend away without it, never been sick on the couch without it, etc., etc., etc. Every morning when he wakes up he carries Honey Bunny around the house with him for the first few minutes until he’s acclimated to the day. So, when he came downstairs, found Meera in her chair, and then put his Hon Bun on Meera’s lap for her to “hold,” it was really the ultimate act of love.
For anyone interested in the Haiti t-shirts (in the photos from the Haiti Reunion post), I got them from CafePress.com — here are the links:
Haitian Roots: http://shop.cafepress.com/design/19719969
Preserve Haiti: http://shop.cafepress.com/design/21988602
I ‘heart’ Haiti: http://shop.cafepress.com/design/12720790
Braydon, my hero, has me a new computer!
Answers to questions from the comments from the last post–
(tomorrow I’ll try to do a real blog post)
Hi Amanda! — Yes! With every single stage and phase of baby Meera (including the entire pregnancy) we (me, especially) find ourselves thinking about where the boys were and what they were doing at her age. I think about it all the time. ALL. THE. TIME. We have a pretty good understanding of where they were and what they were doing — at least from the time they were born until the day we went to get them. As hard as that understanding is, I think that it (the knowledge/understanding) is a good thing — for both us (B & me) and for K & O. Adoption waiting is the worst. The WORST. By far worse for the waiting children than for the waiting parents… but that says a lot because it is just plain horrible for the waiting parents. People who haven’t been through it just don’t get it. Those of you who have been through it, or are currently going through it, you know what I mean when I say this: It pains my heart (pains my heart) thinking about Kyle and Owen in that orphanage for their first eight months. Meera turned 8 weeks old today. Not all orphanages are the same (even in Haiti some are worse than others)… but when K & O were 8 weeks old they were lying in a grungy port-a-crib, in the sweltering heat, not sure when/if they’d get another bottle, not bathed, not held, not loved. It kills me to think about it. It just kills me. But… I like to think about the fact that they had each other. I try to focus on that. They laid there everyday, together. And they lived. They survived. They transcended. They flourished. They thrived. And here they are today — lovin’ on their 8 week old baby sister giving her thousands of kisses every day and asking to hold her. Life is heart-wrenching and amazing and awe-inspiring. What a big, wide, wonderful (albeit screwed up) world we live in. So, yes, I do think about where the boys were and what they were doing. I think about it all the time. Thanks for asking about this Amanda. I hope to blog more about this sort of subject — including thoughts/feelings on adopted vs. bio kids — down the road (hopefully not in the far too distant future).
Zahara asked about the stares and comments we’ve received since having Meera with us… As always, some people do ask questions, most just stare. Unless people say things to us we ignore them. Children are the best — they just put it out there (which, to Braydon and I, at least, feels much better than coping with the stares and whispers and ‘lets-pretend-we’re-not-gawking-at-them’ that we get from most adults). This past weekend, for example, a little girl exclaimed out loud to her parents: “Look! The baby is white and they are black!!!!!” I like that kind of thing because it just opens it up wide open. Children, we find, tend to just be curious and that’s really cool and fun. Adults often just stare — and that is uncomfortable sometimes. Sometimes we get a bad vibe and that is really uncomfortable. People sometimes ask questions or make comments, and that is almost always a good thing. Another example from this past weekend — We were having lunch at a restaurant and I took Owen into the bathroom. As we were washing our hands a middle-aged white woman at the sink next to us said to me: “You have such a cute family!” I said, “Thanks!” She said, “I was looking at your baby earlier and she’s so cute and alert, and your boys are just adorable.” I said, “Thank you!!” And that was that. I thought this was really, really cool. It felt very supportive and positive without feeling at all fake or weird. Often I think people want to say something — and want to say something positive — but they just don’t know what to say and I felt like that woman had figured out a great thing to say. Just last week my mom was telling me that she was at an amusement park with my niece and it was an entirely white crowd. She noticed a family of white parents and black kids. She wanted so much to say something supportive and positive to them (especially given that they presumably felt a little weird about it being soooo white there), but just didn’t know what to say and didn’t want to come across as weird. We were talking about it on the phone and I couldn’t think of what she could say that would be perfect. And then just a couple days later I had that encounter with that woman in the restroom—- I think saying “You have such a cute family!” is just the perfect thing to say. I plan to say something like that to families similar to ours when we see them in the future (as rarely as that is).
Anonymous said — “Okay, so fess up: what’s in the delicious looking salad (including dressing)?” Well, here’s the deal… If I do this then you have to make yourself not anonymous (I hate anonymous comments!!!) and trade me one of your great recipes that you’re eating this summer. Acting on faith that you’ll live up to your end of the bargain, here goes:
Braydon and I love salads and I tend to make up a great salad idea and then make it over and over until we’re sick of it. The salad picture is of our current salad fixation. We’ve eaten it several times already this summer and just yesterday when I was food shopping I bought all the ingredients to eat it again this week. The boys love it too. I just made it up so I don’t have any measurements or anything, but here you go:
* Lay a down a bed of nice baby greens on a platter
* Toast a couple handfuls of pecans (‘toast’ = place in dry pan over hot stove until they are browned). Put toasted pecans on greens.
* Add on a couple big handfuls of fresh blueberries
* Add on crumbled goat cheese (getting good quality goat cheese is key to making this salad awesome!)
* Drizzle with good extra virgin olive oil
* Drizzle with Litehouse brand Pomegranate Blueberry Vinaigrette (I just discovered this — it is in the cold refrigerated section of the produce area)
* Sprinkle with kosher salt and fresh ground pepper
* Note: I would also add thinly sliced red onion to this salad… (I’m just not adding onion this summer because Meera seems to have a bad reaction when I eat onions so I’m avoiding them at all costs!)
* Serve with crusty baguette and white wine!
My computer crashed — like, completely died. My Tech Guy (AKA Braydon) is getting things up and running with a new computer for me. So, I’ll be blogging again soon.
There is so much to say, and so little time to say it. More than ever before I’m so glad to have this blog. It helps me to know that I’m jotting some of these things down here. It is cathartic and therapeutic and reassuring all at the same time. It is also incredibly frustrating because there is so much that is not put down here, and yet this is our only “journal”/baby book/scrap book/photo album. So much that just can’t be said (either because we choose not to make it public for various reasons, or because it simply is too deep to be able to be articulated no matter how hard we try). And so much that just isn’t said because there just isn’t enough time in the day. My mind is swirling everyday with multiple (seems like zillions) of thoughts that I wish I could blog about. Afterall, blog material, for us, has never been an issue — and now it is true more than ever. I want to try to catch up on some of what has been going on here over the past seven weeks… and I’ve been putting off doing it… but finally today I am biting the bullet. And on that note… I’ve got to do this in bullet points or it will never get done.
* The boys have said so many interesting things since their baby sister was born. One of the most interesting (to me, at least) is this: They insist (Owen especially, and repeatedly) that Meera looks like them. ???!!? Before the baby was born we had talked at length about the fact that her skin would “look like Mommy’s skin because she grew in Mommy’s belly.” That she would “not be brown”; that her skin “would not match” K & O’s. Etc., etc., etc. Bizarrely, they (Owen mostly) from the start (first time meeting Meera in the hospital) and several times since (at random times, out of their own initiative) have said: “You were wrong Mommy! She doesn’t look like you, she looks like us!” They point to their skin when they say this. They insist that her skin is more similar to theirs than to mind. I gently prod, but get nowhere. I have absolutely no clue how or why they believe that Meera looks like them, but they do. They sincerely do.
* By far the hardest part of this new life so far is figuring out how to get dinner on the table. This was my biggest challenge before (pre-Meera) too. But now it is harder than ever. In the first few weeks it felt like Meera was nursing non-stop. I could barely get out of the chair for five minutes before I had to be back there again to nurse. 24×7. It felt overwhelming to me. And making dinner felt impossible to me. Thank goodness for several good friends who dropped off food for us. I’m not sure how we would have survived without those given-to-us meals. The nursing has become easier (less frequent, and for shorter periods of time) in the past couple of weeks. But getting dinner on the table still feels like a monumental task. If I had to say what we’ve eaten for the past seven weeks, I would not be able to. Lord only knows what we’ve ingested around the dinner hour each day. But every once in a while I actually have managed to make a real meal. That feels like a huge achievement. And every now and then I manage to make something really nice that we all really love to eat. Those evenings — as few and far between as they have been — feel nothing short of miraculous. It feels so good when we can have something nice in the midst of the mayhem. There is nothing like a nice dinner to make me feel o.k. about everything– even when my shirt is covered with a long day’s worth of caked on baby spit up.
* Kyle is so incredibly gentle and sweet with Meera. Watching him with the baby makes my heart ache out of love for this boy who is so sensitive and sweet and loving and gentle (at least when he wants to be! LOL!). In the beginning he didn’t want to hold her, for fear of hurting her. But he’s warmed up to it and isn’t afraid anymore. When he holds her he is calm and soothing and deeply caring (albeit nervous). But Meera seems to pick up on only his love for her, not his nerves. She is (generally) very content with Kyle. Her body is relaxed when he holds her. She watches him as he plays around her. And she smiles easily for him. Kyle also kisses Meera constantly. Throughout the day he stops what he’s doing to give her a peck on the cheek. He does this many, many times each day.
* Kyle cannot stand to hear Meera cry. The littlest fuss and he’s immediately telling me to feed her. He’s always hated to hear babies or other children cry. Hated it. And it seems even more accute with Meera. Nothing can distract him from it if he hears her crying — not his favorite video, not his favorite meal, nothing. Luckily he sleeps right through her crying at night. Despite the fact that her room is right next to his, he has not once woken up from her crying. We thank our lucky stars for that. Owen is my huge helper. He thinks of everything, and jumps in to help, before I even ask him to help. If I need to nurse Meera during dinner Owen jumps up and runs to get the boppy pillow. If we’re going out to the pool Owen grabs Meera’s Bjorn chair and carries it out with us. If Meera is drooling Owen brings me a burp cloth. It is really remarkable.
* I’ve found Owen doing his thumb-pinky maneuver on several occasions. He doesn’t pay as much attention to Meera as Kyle does. But when he does pay attention to her, it is all about her. He seems to zone out (that’s the only way we can think of to describe it) whenever he holds her. Drifting to some distant place unknown to us. He drifts so afar that it is hard to get his attention — even if we’re right in his face. We’re not sure what is going on with that, but it is very noticeable and we’re trying to understand it. You can see the distant look in his eyes in most photos of him holding Meera.
* One day Owen said to me, “Me and Kyle were adopted. And Meera was adopted too!” I said, “Yes, baby, you and Kyle were adopted. But Meera was not adopted.” He looks at me with a blank face. I gave (for the millionth time) our basic age-appropriate explanation of adopted vs. not adopted. He said, very matter of factly, “You’re wrong mommy, Meera was adopted. She was adopted when we brought her home from the hospital.” Interesting. I’ve gotta say, though, I sort of like his logic: like all children are adopted/’chosen’… some are adopted by people who didn’t grow them in their belly and some are adopted from the woman whose belly they grew in… either way, the woman who takes them home and acts as their mom is their Mom… like it is an act to become someone’s mom– an act that requires something more than just giving birth to a kid no matter what the circumstances are or aren’t… or something like that. I don’t know– but in some way it kind of works for me and I ‘get’ what he’s saying here.
* Meera’s favorite thing to do, undoubtedly, is to sit in her Bjorn chair. There are times that she actively prefers this to being held. She also loves having a bath. She loves people. She just loves life. She has seriously got to be the most laid back, easy going baby that ever lived. I really feel like we were given such a gift with her temperment. I find myself asking daily, ‘how did I luck out?’ Granted, I prayed every day of my pregnancy for this. But still, I find it unbelievable that I actually got an easy baby. Kyle and Owen have always been so ACTIVE and they have always required such vigilent constant active monitoring……… (God forbid you leave the room for five minutes– something crazy will be happening upon your return)…….. K & O are still giving us a run for our money every day — not a day goes by that they don’t EXHAUST us.. so, it just seems waaaaaaaaay toooooooooo easy to have Meera now. Not only is there only one of her (OMG!!!!!! one baby is a BREEZE compared to twins — a BREEZE!!!!!!!!!), but she is so very splendidly mellow and easy. Don’t get me wrong, having a newborn is most definitely a full time job. It is a lot of work. But it is all relative. And after K & O… well… I’ll just leave it at that: Meera is a breeze.
* It feels remarkably different now– having another female in the house. It is noticeable to me. I like it. 
I think the three males in the house notice it too, although we have not discussed it and have never drawn any attention to it. I got a kick out of something that Owen said last Saturday— Braydon and the boys were leaving the house to go to the golf course to hit golf balls. I was staying home with Meera. As Owen was running (and jumping/skipping/stomping/yelping/yahoooing) through the kitchen, heading for the garage door, Owen shouted back into the house “BYE LADIES!!!” Owen loves it when Meera wears girlie things. The more pink/flowery/fluffy the outfit, the better. He says stuff like, “Oh, I like this dress! She is soooooooo cute! She looks sooooo BEAUUUUUTIFUL today!” Kyle just thinks she’s cute all the time, regardless of what she’s wearing. He regularly says — just out of the blue — “SHE’S SO CUTE!” And, regarding the other girl in their life… June (for new readers: this is their shared imaginary friend)… Since Meera was born June is alive and well, more than ever. There is non-stop talk about June these days. June June June June June. I find this interesting and I’m not sure how to make sense of it. They talk about June more than any other topic — by far. It is all June all the time.
* Kyle has twice asked, “When is she going to be a real sister?” Upon further discussion I’ve come to understand that he means ‘When is she going to be able to play with us and actually do stuff with us?’ Kyle has also twice said, “I want her to go back in your belly.” Upon further discussion I’ve come to understand that he means he wants a ‘do over’ for her birth— he is still very disconcerted about the idea that she “came out Mom’s belly not vagina.” The c-section has thrown him for a loop — more than anyone (including me). He does not like things not going as planned. So, he asks, ‘why can’t she just go back in there and we can try it again?!’
* It seems truly unbelievable to me that K & O haven’t had feelings of jealousy toward Meera. Although they have never once shown any indication that they’re jealous of her in any way, I continue to be bewildered by this. How could they not have those jealous feelings? I didn’t expect them to have lots of issues with it (because they wanted a baby so badly and because they’re twins so neither of them ever had undivided attention in the first place), and we did prepare them extensively for life with baby (read all the books about becoming a big brother, spent hours upon hours talking about it, planned like crazy for as smooth of a transition as possible for them)… but still… it truly does amaze me. The other day at a perfect moment to open up the conversation I asked them, “Are you sometimes jealous of all the attention Meera gets?” They both looked at me like I was absolutely NUTS. “No!” they both said in unison, dead serious. Then Kyle said, “We’re not jealous of her attention. We’re just jealous of all the boxes.” (i.e., gifts that come in the mail for Meera).
* One day out at the pool Kyle said, “When is my sister going to die?” I was stunned. He’s never asked this question about anyone or anything. I said, as nonchalantly as I could, “Why sweetie? Why do you ask that?” He said, “I don’t want her to die. I only want her to die when she’s very old. Not soon. Just when she’s very, very old and me and Owen are very, very old too.”
* I thought our family used to get a lot of looks, stares, questions, comments before… well—- now it is tenfold. On the few occassions so far that we’ve been out and about people have literally stopped and stared, turning slowly to follow us with their eyes, watching as we walk by on the sidewalk. You can almost just see the curiousity on their faces– they see the boys, they see Braydon and I, they see the baby stroller and peek inside to see a newborn WHITE baby. And they are visibly baffled. It is intense. Very intense. I knew it would be, but didn’t expect it to be this intense.
* Over the past couple of weeks I’ve read a novel for fun. Just a fun fiction novel. John Grisham. Just for fun. I cannot remember the last time I did this. I think it was before the boys came home. Don’t get me wrong– I’m a voracious reader. I always have at least 3 books going at any given time. I’m a professor for goodness sake— it is part of my job to read. I read a lot… a lot of sociology. Plus, all the reading I do on the homefront about anything/everything related to Haiti/adoption/twins/race/parenting/pregnancy/birth/breastfeeding/etc. I cannot even explain how great it has been to just read a novel for the heck of it. I cannot even explain how great it is to be on maternity leave. Every single day feels like a vacation. A real, true vacation. And a long vacation. My university has a great leave policy — I don’t have to be back until January. I cannot get over how wonderful this is… and I am trying to savor every precious lovely vacationy moment. To just sit and read a novel for fun… !?!!!! And the icing on the cake– I get to do it while rocking my tiny baby bundle. Some of the moments are just so, so, so sweet.
* This afternoon I did the boys’ hair (re-twisted their dreadlocks). This is a major undertaking. We had not re-twisted their hair since before Meera was born. It takes me about an hour to do each boy’s hair. We always do hair while sitting on the family room floor, in front of the t.v., so that the boys can watch a video to keep them sitting still. About halfway through Owen’s hair Meera woke up from a nap. I went and got her from her crib and put her in her Bjorn chair on the floor facing Owen and I. She happily sat there, about two feet from us, watching Owen and I, as I worked on his locs. It occurred to me — ‘just look at this scene. how many 7 week old white baby girls are sitting there watching their big brother’s dreadlocks get re-twisted by their white mother??’ I started thinking about it and it suddenly struck me so strongly — ‘seriously, how many white girls are growing up watching their brothers’ locs get re-done/knowing about black hair from such an intimate vantage point/being in that moment from the inside out, from the time of birth onward??’ And then I was pondering it for the rest of the hair session… in all seriousness– how many other newborn white baby girls watched their white mom re-twist their big brother’s locs this afternoon? I think it just might be possible that in that period of time this afternoon Meera might have been the only one like her in the entire world. Is it possible to be that unique on the entire planet? I don’t know… and I don’t know what it means (if anything)… but I couldn’t stop thinking about it. My little white seven week old daughter just watching as I worked on my son’s locs. What are the chances that anyone else out there was in that scenario this afternoon?
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* So, that’s it– a bunch of stuff I’ve been meaning to post about. There is a lot more where that came from. Lots of other posts for other days…
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