Severance

 Today, little one, there was a hearing for your case. I honestly hate writing all those words. I hate that you have a case file, a case plan, a case manager, an attorney, a judge. Don't get me wrong, since you were born substance-exposed to a mother who can't care for you, I'm glad you are safe. I just hate that you weren't born safe and celebrated. 

Your mother hasn't been achieving any of her goals in order to reunify with you. She refuses contact with her DCS case manager, with her attorney. She willfully misses attending court hearings. She was not present today when the judge announced that she was granting the motion to change your case plan from reunification to severance and adoption. 

The judge, the attorneys, the case workers present: this is their job. It's a noble thing, to protect children and help families and I'm grateful they are all doing it. But it was hard to listen to everyone speak and for the mood in the metaphorical room (it was a telephonic hearing, so we didn't see any of them) to be relatively mundane and ho-hum. For them, it was just another day. But not for us. And certainly not for you. 

I am excited to get to be your forever Mama. I love you so much. I feel humbled and honored to be able to know you and love you and guide you and celebrate you for the rest of my life. My heart though, sees another mother losing her son. My heart feels this loss of yours, this separation from her. I cannot celebrate that. I cannot dance joyfully and hold you to my cheek and have pure happiness; that feels wrong. There is no joy without the pain, and there is no pain without the joy, and so we are all wrapped up together with this ribbon of duality. 

We still have a ways to go, sweet one. In a month, there will be an initial severance hearing. No knowing what comes next until we find out whether your mom attends that hearing. If she doesn't, the judge will sever her parental rights right then and there, and your case will move over to the Adoptions unit, and we can pursue your adoption date. We don't know who your biological father is, so the court is posting a 90 day John Doe paternity ad. His rights cannot be severed until that 3 months has elapsed. 

What I do know is that tomorrow and the next day and all the days after that, you'll be here. You always have a home with us; you are one of us already and nothing will ever change that. I know you'll be loved and cared for and safe. That's enough for me, until you can legally become a McGill. 

Thoughts on pregnancy loss

Mid October is already upon us. I love fall, even though we don't really get an autumnal season here, so this month is an enjoyable time for me. E and I have been spending every weekend morning out in our front yard among our harvest/fall decorations, enjoying the cool breeze and being outside without risking a sunburn. This is the first year of E's life where I feel she GETS it better, all the birthdays and holidays and celebrations, so I just know it's going to be a glorious holiday season. She's decided she wants to be a fox for Halloween and she's probably the most excited about trick-or-treating and eating the spoils of her efforts.

This year's autumn is different than any other, for a couple reasons. Obviously, I'm pregnant, which is drastically different than any other year. But on a deeper level, it's a time of grieving and reflection for me because the baby I miscarried early this year was supposed to be born mid-October. Appropriately, October is also Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance month. Since I lost that baby, my emotions have run the gamut. It's such a personal and private thing, to feel and know that my body lost a baby we'd waited and wished for so long. And yet, millions of women across the world are navigating pregnancy loss or infant loss, and the worst part is they're doing it alone. It's hard not to feel shame, to blame myself for what happened. I believe strongly that talking about it with our loved ones is important, if only so that the next woman it happens to doesn't feel shamed and lonely. 

Processing my grief has been a long road. I'm still working on it. When we learned that I was pregnant again, I had to process further. I guess I expected myself to get past the loss faster, particularly once my body was carrying another child. Why should I still long for the first baby when I now have this one who is growing so magnificently? Because they're not the same, I learned. I had dreams and hopes about the first child I was growing - that baby was already a person to me. And when I lost him, I lost all the things I'd been thinking of and wishing for that person. It's only natural that losing the first baby would affect my feelings about the next one, so when this pregnancy came along, I worried. I worried all the time, in every spare moment I had in which I wasn't sick or asleep. I tried really hard to be calm and trusting and accepting that my body could grow a healthy pregnancy, but I constantly would relive the profound sorrow of saying goodbye. In time, I passed the point I lost the first pregnancy and began to worry slightly less. Then I passed the end of the first trimester and started to really believe that a new family member would be born. Now we've passed our anatomy scan ultrasound and I've seen our little seal pup swimming inside me and it hits me like a ton of bricks that I love everything about this child. 

It bothers me that it took so long for me to see it. I feel guilt that this babe might have somehow felt that I wasn't all the way on board at the beginning. But I'm ready for you now, little selkie child. 

The time during and after the miscarriage, I thought fiercely to myself that if I ever (no, not if, WHEN, WHEN) became pregnant again, I would force myself to be grateful every day. I would cherish the time I got to carry another person within myself, to be responsible for growing another being. Funny, how when this pregnancy came along it shattered all the expectations of how I'd feel - because I felt like shit. That certainly wasn't in the plans. Some days, it was hard to remember that I felt so terrible BECAUSE I was growing another being. I didn't have any room for logic and reason. I didn't feel grateful, I felt angry because clearly, I'd paid my dues already by losing a pregnancy, shouldn't this one treat me nicely?! Turns out, it doesn't work that way. 

Now, we're already more than halfway through. Today, I'm so much closer to my own self again and I really am grateful about that. I no longer hate and resent all food - I can even cook food for myself! I can tolerate the smell of cooking food! I can boil water without it making my stomach heave! It's miraculous. The baby happily obliges me by fluttering and kicking and squirming around much of the day. My belly has begun to swell and really look like a round pregnant belly, despite how all my clothes make it look different than I perceive it. E enjoys talking about our baby and the things she will teach the baby (like how to crawl on sand into the ocean and do Crazy Eye). She's very good about being gentle with my abdomen and can hardly wait to feel the baby kicking. E also has started telling us that she's growing a baby in HER uterus, and her breasts will get milk, too. We've covered Biology 101 with her, but that hasn't deterred her enthusiasm for having a baby of her own. 

Today I feel all the things I wished I'd gotten to feel with that first child. I feel all the happy emotions I told myself I would feel when I got to carry another pregnancy. It may have taken me longer than I'd like, but I'm glad I made it. I can't promise how tomorrow will go, but for today, that's enough. 

Dear grieving mother

Dear grieving mother,

You don't know me. You would pass me in the hallway and never know who I am, but I might know you by your tearstained face, your hollow eyes, your not-quite-shrunken postpartum belly and your empty arms.

Your baby died. I'm so sorry.

I don't know anything else about you or your family or your situation, but I know your name because it was on your baby's toe tag, body bag and death certificate.

You see, after your precious little one passed away or was born still, he came through my morgue. The funeral home you carefully chose to use to try and say goodbye to him came to the hospital to collect his body, and I was in charge of releasing him.

It's the discharge nobody wants. It's the body none of us wish to have to release.

Your daughter looked so perfect, wrapped up in her blanket inside a body bag. She could have been sleeping. The way she had her hand curled up close to her face and her delicate little eyelids reminded me so much of my own daughter when she was born. I closed my eyes for a moment and let the pain grip my heart, knowing that what you're going through is a million times worse, and hoping that for maybe an instant your grief let up just a touch while I carried it for you.

I want you to know that I softly traced his cold cheek with my fingertips and gently ensured that the tag encircling his wee ankle matched the name on the outside of the body bag before tucking him back in. I smoothed his hair back and sent out thoughts of peace for his soul.

I want you to know that although you don't know me, and I don't know you - our lives touched for a moment. Your daughter was cared for gently and respectfully, and for the few minutes that she was my charge, I loved her. I loved her deeply, and in the same way, I loved you as well.

I can't do anything to bring back your precious child, but I thought maybe it might bring a few seconds' respite to the unending pain you're living through now to know that someone else, a stranger, was also touched by your baby and your grief.

I'm so sorry.

Love,
your local hospital's pathology tech

Loss

It worked!  And then it didn't...

Exactly one week into our wait, A started experiencing spotting, which at that point indicates implantation bleeding. We were elated. We did some research and on how long after implantation a home pregnancy test can get a positive result.  5 days later, we took the test-- negative.  It was still early enough that we didn't lose all hope. We asked around and other people had late positives that were successful pregnancies. 2 days later we finally got the positive test we were hoping for. It was surreal, had it really worked on the first try!?

We started telling some of our family and close friends.  When we decided to try, I came up with the idea of telling people with Valentines since we would be finding out just before Valentine's Day. We met up with A's parents on Friday night and told them. We had a Valentine's party with all of E's friends (well, we're friends with the parents, the kids seem to get along...) and told all of those families.  On Sunday we were going to meet my parents and give them their cards but A started having spotting. It quickly became obvious that she was having an early miscarriage.

We were pretty crushed.  I was stuck at work pretending everything was alright, A was stuck at home with the constant reminder that it wasn't.

Many people wait to tell anyone until later in the pregnancy just in case this happens, but I'm glad we didn't wait. It was hardest for me to tell my mom because I had to tell her that we were a) trying again, b) had been pregnant, and c) it was a chemical pregnancy.   A loss at any point is hard, but our friends and family really were there to support us.  There were many kind words, hugs, and even some food.

The timing wasn't great (there is no good time...).  This time of year is always hard on our marriage. I generally work long hours and we only get brief times together when we are awake. Adding our very different processes of grief really didn't help.

In the middle of all of this, A got a message from the friend who got her into her field in the first place.  She heard A was going to school and that made her eligible to work with her at the hospital across the street from our house as a tech instead of an assistant.  They just had someone leave and are looking for a replacement. AND its on the early shift, so we wouldn't have to do all day day-care. This was all great news, except we would again be looking at a 3 month wait so A would qualify for FML.

We've finally had some time to heal and re-connect. A few nights ago, we ended up in a very similar, last minute conversation about if we should try or not. After weighing the pros and cons, we decided that we weren't willing to wait as long as we needed to if A got the new job.  We're just going to wing it and hope for the best. We decided that since FML wasn't paid leave, it just guaranteed your job, it wasn't worth waiting for. She's already on my insurance, so we don't have wait for coverage to change over. And really, we just need something to look forward to. It makes the loss sting a little less.

Today we traded in our little MazdaSpeed3 for a Ford Escape.  There was no way we could have 2 car seats in the Mazda if we wanted to do rear-facing past 1 year. Things are moving forward, it feels good. I would ask you to send us positive thoughts, but since you won't read this for a while, I'll ask you to send them to someone else who needs them. Or even better, a random act of kindness.