11 month update

Ugh, folks… I have an 11 MONTH OLD! We are one month away from toddler status.
This month, Wyatt…

  • Has been going to daycare part-time for 6 weeks
  • Has been sick for 3 out of the past 6 weeks – bad cold, fever, croup. Did I mention I love daycare germs?
  • Loves the swings at the park and reading books
  • Waves goodbye and gives high fives
  • Is (almost) standing on his own unassisted
  • Gets himself down from the bed or the couch
  • Can crawl up and down the stairs
  • Absolutely loves making music! We have daily jam sessions with his shakers, drum and xylophone.
  • Has become a bit of a Daddy’s boy
  • Is still co-sleeping, breastfeeding and in cloth diapers

This past month, Mommy…

  • Has been transitioning back to work – self employed this time! 🙂
  • Is learning that working from home with a baby is HARD – especially when he is sick
  • Is feeling the feels as her baby boy doesn’t need her as much anymore.
  • Participated in a film project about miscarriage. I really hope I can share it with you when it’s done! 

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A small gesture of compassion

I’m not going to deny it. I’ve had a rough ride with my Mom since my ectopic pregnancy.

I’ve never felt support. I’ve never felt that she “got it.”

She said things like, “It’s time for you to get over it.

Last week, I told her that I was participating in a local film project about miscarriage. She sounded surprised and a bit curious when she replied with, “Oh? Really?“.

Anyway, she just shared this on Facebook.

babiesgonetoosoon

Today is not a special day.

But…

It’s almost the anniversary of our loss.

It’s almost pregnancy and infant loss awareness month.

It’s almost time for the wave of light.

Maybe, just maybe… she’s been paying attention?

The why doesn’t really matter.

I’ll take the gesture as a positive sign.

It’s the first time my Mom has publicly acknowledged our loss and that’s a HUGE step forward. ❤

Do you see the real me?

In honour of Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Day on October 15, I’m dedicating this post to Share’s Walk of Remembrance and the Wave of Light in support of infertility and pregnancy loss and shattering the stigma.


You see me.

I’m at the park pushing my almost one year old son on the swing.

As he squeals in delight, my face lights up with a ginormous smile.

Pure joy. 

You see me.

I’m at the grocery store sporting my usual attire – a Mom bun and leggings.

I look frazzled as I scan back and forth between my grocery list and the aisle shelves while reminding my son over and over again to leave the food in the cart.

He sees a stuffed animal on display and sneakily snags it.

I finally notice his new furry friend has joined him in the cart. My son and I lock eyes and simultaneously burst out laughing.

Pure joy. 

You see me.

I’m at the neighbourhood leisure centre.

My son is taking swimming lessons. He’s a little fish who loves the water.

At the instructor’s request, I dunk him under and quickly bring him back up. As he rises, he takes a gasp of air and looks shocked. I giggle and tell him how proud I am of him. He shakes the water off and smiles back.

Pure joy. 

You see me.

I’m in the waiting room at the doctor’s office.

My son notices you across the room and waves.

You give him an oogley funny face that all little kids enjoy.

He laughs.

You smile at me and I smile back.

To the outside world, I look like a typical new mom – sometimes frantic, sometimes frazzled, but filled with so much happiness and love.

Inside, my heart often aches.

The doctor’s office is a place I don’t like to go.

It reminds me of 4 years of fertility testing and treatments.

It reminds me of negative pregnancy tests, positive pregnancy tests and low rising betas.

It reminds me of phrases I’ll never forget like, “I’m sorry, but you are on ectopic watch” and “Your tube has burst. We need to take you in for emergency surgery.”

Heartache and grief. 

What you don’t see is a little girl.

What you don’t hear are the thoughts that go through my head each time my son experiences a momentous “first” in his life…

Because I often wonder what her first smile, first laugh, first step would have been like.

I’ll always wonder.

What you don’t feel is the grief that still clouds my heart – especially in October and May of each year.

What you don’t feel is the immense love I had for her even if she was only here for a short time. She lived. She is still mine.

My daughter. My child. 

Loved and lost. 

Did you know I am a grieving mother? Did you realize my son is a little brother? Did you sense that my story is deeper than it seems?

1 in 4 women experience pregnancy loss.

1 in 4 women have a child they will never get to see grow up.

1 in 4 women are like me.


I would like to thank my friend Justine Froelker, author, advocate and blogger at Ever Upward for the opportunity to participate in the Footprints Blog Tour which runs until October 15.  Check out Elena’s post from yesterday and continue the tour with Erin tomorrow.

On October 15, post your Walk of Remembrance photos on social media using #ShareWalk2016. Light a candle at 7pm and join in the #WaveofLight for #pregnancyandinfantlossawareness.

We are in this together.

I see you warrior Momma. I know your pain. I know your joy. I know your journey. ❤

A feverish weekend

This weekend, my baby was sick.

He spiked a fever last night.

He wanted his “Dada” over his “Momma”.  That one was hard. 

He tossed and turned and cried all night long.

We gave him Tylenol.

Mike walked him, rocked him and slept on the couch with him.

This morning, he was ready to return to his Momma. He drank and drank, clearly thirsty from fighting whatever his little body had come down with.

His nose was crusted with yellow snot. His eye was poofy and red. His hair was slick with sweat.

He fought the fever on and off all day long.

Late afternoon, it finally broke.

He ate a little. He drank a lot.

Suddenly, he smiled and giggled.

He hopped down and started playing with his toy.

Our baby had returned.

It is such an amazing feeling to know your little one is feeling better.

It’s only been 3 weeks since Wyatt started regularly going to daycare… and he’s been sick twice. This time was the worst of his life.

I hope he builds his immunity fast. It’s so hard when you let your little one into the world and have to trust that what they face they will overcome.

 

 

A mindful lesson in being present

Tonight, I held my baby and I cried.

You see, I’ve been resentful lately.

I’ve been angry when he won’t take a nap.

I’ve been annoyed when he wants to sit on my lap while I’m trying to work on the computer.

I’ve been aggravated that he gets into E-V-E-R-Y-T-H-I-N-G.

I’ve wished that he would go back to the smaller, less mobile version of himself.

I struggle with his independence.

I always thought watching a little human – my little human – grow up would be fascinating, but my son is strong-willed and curious.

He doesn’t want to sit idly in front of the TV.

He’d rather cruise around the furniture testing how far he can reach items that he isn’t supposed to have or explore his toy box by taking each and every toy out of it.

Once his adventures have curbed his curiosity, he crawls back over to me and insists on being my sidekick. Even though he’s independent, he craves human contact. He likes being close.

And me, I’ve been needing space.

My mind is caught up in a million other places. I feel like time is of the essence, yet it seems like there’s never enough…. especially when your mini-me is constantly distracting you.

We’ve had a rough week. Wyatt was sick with a cold and decided that a sleep strike would be his medicine of choice. He spent a few days home with me being extra snuggley and extra cranky.

Today, he went to daycare. The daycare says he’s handling the transition really well, but I see it in his eyes that’s he’s upset with us. He’d rather be home with Mom or Dad where he always gets cuddles whenever he wants. Attachment parenting has gotten the best of us.

Tonight, my little man fought bedtime hard. I can’t get angry at him for being a nighthawk like me. He takes after me so much sometimes that it scares me. In fact, I worry what I will face as his personality seems so much more powerful than my own.

As I rocked my son to sleep, his tear stained cheek rested against my shoulder. I could feel his tiny breaths begin to get shallower as he gave in and drifted off to sleep. He felt so warm against me – so soft, so gentle. He’s little still – even if it seems like he’s getting so big.

Tonight, I cried.

Because each and every day, my son shows me what really matters. His refusal to go to bed forced me to slow down and clear my mind. I allowed myself to give in and feel the depths of the present moment.

Then, I felt guilt – for all of the anger, resentment, annoyance and struggles I’ve been facing. Because if I would just take a few more minutes to pause, take a deep breath and pay attention to my son, I wouldn’t be feeling so disconnected.

His needs actually mirror my needs. Isn’t that a fascinating concept?