Happy Birthday, Baby

My Sweet Charlotte,

For weeks I've been consumed with the fact that my baby is about to turn one year old.  And now the day is upon us. Here you are...mere hours from being 365 days into your life out here with Daddy and me.  And to me, it seems like you're pretty happy so far. 

You've lived the last 12 months oblivious to how you've completely transformed our lives.  You've brought more joy into our hearts than we could have imagined.  

This year, as your mom, I've:

-Worried more about a tiny little person than I ever, ever have about myself.  

-Made you endure outfit and hair accessory changes.  And then more outfit and hair accessory changes.  You've indulged me and played along. 

-Watched you be read to by and play with your cousins.  You are simply adored by all of them.  Even when you're 50, I think your big cousin Dean will still call you "Baby Charlotte". You bring them, your aunts, uncle, and grandparents such joy. 

-Held you longer than I 'should have' after you've fallen asleep during your bedtime bottle.  Acutely aware that time flies by, and that one day you will want me to drop you off around the corner from where your friends are waiting for you, I want to hold you as long as you'll let me. 

-Crept into your room before I went to bed just to listen to you breathe and to look at you.  Every. Single. Night. 

-Seen your daddy fall so deeply in love with another girl.  You have stolen his heart in the biggest way possible. 

-Helped teach me not to sweat the small stuff as much. (I still do, but I'm working on it). As long as everyone I love is healthy and happy at the end of the day, I've got everything I need. 

-Made me so proud to be your mommy.  You're smart, you're beautiful, you're funny and you're sweet. And you're my daughter.  

I know that I can't keep you a baby forever.  But, as your Papa Mike told me last week, even when you're 60, you'll still be by baby.  

And I'll still be your mommy. 

Happy birthday, precious girl.  You're the best thing that's ever happened to us.  

Love,

Mommy 

What I Did on my Summer Vacation

Summer 2015.  After waiting so long to become a mom, I was finally going to have the whole summer to spend with my little girl.  There was conversation of play dates with my mommy friends, and mommy and me classes to attend.  I had never been so excited for summer break.  And, as a teacher, I had ALWAYS been excited for summer break.  This one wasn’t necessarily going to be super relaxing, with a baby to take care of, but it was going to be glorious.

Best laid plans…

So, after multiple IVF attempts a few years back, subsequent miscarriages, and finally choosing the path of adoption which led us to our sweet girl, I learned something I never thought was possible.  I can get pregnant from having sex. (Dad, if you’re reading this…sorry).

John and I were in shock.  I mean, total, utter and complete shock.  We were going to have a second child.  Our little baby was going to be a big sister.  Another baby was on the way.

I am not going to lie…I did not necessarily find the idea of having two babies less than 18 months apart super appealing.  I was scared of how this curveball would affect Charlotte, our carefully planned finances, my job at a new elementary school, and our lives as a whole. 

But, our families were filled joy over this news.  Once the initial shock wore off, John joined them.  But me?  I was trying to manage my nausea and such bad dry-heaving that my voice became shot.  I had almost no energy and spent much of my time laying on the couch feeling sorry for myself that my summer plans with my daughter were shot as well.  Many women can endure first trimester woes far greater than I can, I am sure.  But stuff like this has always brought me to my knees.  I am a giant baby when it comes to stuff like this.  And that’s an understatement, people.

After my blood work showed a hint of a possible issue, we had an early first ultrasound.  There it was.  A tiny little baby with a strong heartbeat.  John stood next to me and held my hand as the sweet sound of our baby’s heartbeat filled the room.  So, yeah folks, we were for sure going to have another baby. 

Life went on, the nausea and exhaustion continued, and we went for our next ultrasound.  John, Charlotte and I settled into the exam room and the Dr. began the ultrasound.  In an instant I knew as I looked at the screen.  There was our tiny baby, but without its heartbeat…almost two years to the day of our last pregnancy loss.  Just like last time, there was zero warning and I was having no “textbook” symptoms that indicate any pregnancy issue.  Just like last time, the rug was pulled out from under us.

And it sucks.  The whole damn thing just sucks.

Since then, Mark Zuckerberg and his wife, Pricilla Chen, and actress and blogger Eva Martino (Susan Sarandon’s daughter) have shared that they too have suffered pregnancy loss.  In reading their statements on the matter, they both brought up an important question: why aren’t we talking about miscarriage more?

In piecing this post together in my head, I tried to count the people I personally know who have suffered pregnancy loss.  You know what?  I lost count.  That in of itself is a sad fact, but the fact that we are left to feel lonely, sad, depressed and even shameful after pregnancy loss is a hugely sad fact as well.

If you are reading this and know from personal experience what I am expressing, I am so sorry for all you’ve been through and I am sending you a big hug.  If you are reading this and haven’t personally experienced this painful aspect of life, but know someone who has, do them a favor and be there.  Listen to them.  Let them talk about their little angel.  Bring them flowers, their favorite candy, or give them a long, tight hug.  Don’t offer advice on something you personally have not experienced.  Just do not do it. 

So, here we are a family of three that is staying that way.  But, as time passes, I realize how much I really would have loved for a baby to join our family, and to have been able to give Charlotte a sibling.  Sadly, it’s just not meant to be.  But was IS meant to be is having our amazing little girl, a wonderful husband and the support of our family and friends.

With a grateful heart that’s a little more broken than on my last summer vacation, I’ll take it.

You're Very Lucky

It’s caught me a tad off guard, but Mother’s Day being right around the bend has got my mind thinking A LOT about our daughter’s Birthmother.  I’ve been thinking that without this person, I would not have my daughter.  I would not be a mom.

We were lucky to have the opportunity to get to know our daughter’s birthparents for quite some time before the Big Day.  Some people could not understand why we choose to hang out with them as much as we did during that part of the process.  But we saw it as our Golden Opportunity to really get to know them, and not just the stuff we could read off of paperwork, like family history and basic background information.  We really feel like we became part of a unit with them…a unit that was built on the foundation of loving this little girl so much that we are now all forever bonded by that love.

Someday our sweet girl will have questions about how she came to be a part of our family.  And, we also expect questions regarding her birthparents.  We are so, so glad that we will be able to give her information about their personalities, talents, senses of humor and much more.  Our first gift to our daughter was that investment of time with her birthparents so we could one day share this information with her.  We have photos of the four of us, (five including our girl in the belly!), stories about experiences we shared with them (including the very moment she was born, as we were blessed to be in the delivery room), and the tears of overwhelming emotion that were shed the day we tightly hugged them goodbye and took our daughter home with us.

Don’t get me wrong, it was not ALL easy.  There were little bumps and such in the road, as that can be a part of this process.  At the time though, I would hang on every word that was exchanged, analyzing and worrying that there would be a change of heart by them and that our dreams of being Mommy and Daddy to this baby would be shattered.

But, if I turned my overactive mind off long enough to listen…really listen, in hindsight I realize I would have been able to hear the truth all along.  The truth was, that this baby was so loved that they hand picked us to be her parents.  They trusted us.  They grew to love us.  They CHOSE us. 

That time in our lives will always be so near and dear to us.  And now we continue the best time of our lives with the best titles ever: Mommy and Daddy.

So, whether your own mom is near, or far, in Heaven or on Earth, whether you grew in her belly or in her heart, know that she was chosen somehow, someway to be YOUR mom.  And for that, you’re very lucky.

Head Tilt

For those of you who were fanatics of the TV show FRIENDS...

Do you remember the episode where Monica and Phoebe catered a party for Richard at his apartment?  And how when Monica asked Richard how he was doing, he replied something like this:

"Oh, you must have heard about my divorce, because you're doing the sympathetic 'head tilt'."

You guys remember that?  No? Just me?  

Well nevertheless, I got head tilted this week, and for no good reason, I may add...

Now that our daughter is a bit older, I have ventured into uncharted territory: mommy-and-me classes.  We sit in a circle, we sing, we smile at other babies there and pretend we think they're as cute  and smart as our own baby is, and, eventually, start to chat with other mommies:

"How old is your little sweetheart?"

"Bottle, breast, or both"?

"Anyone getting any sleep in your house?"

...and so forth, and so on...

So, at a class this past week (on a Thursday morning...hallelujah for Spring Break!), I am sitting in a circle next to moms and babies I have never seen before and proudly bouncing my daughter in my lap as we sing "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star" thinking, 'oh my goodness...I am finally a mommy!  I can't believe I get to do this!'  I was blissed out.

The end of the class brought small talk between mommies sitting next to one another.  (See said idle chatter listed above).  The mom next to me had a three year old, a two month old strapped to her in a carrier, and one more at home, I learned.  And when it was my turn to answer her questions, this is how it went down:

Mom of Three: "Is she your first one?"

Me: "She sure is." (complete with squeeze and a kiss for baby)

MOT: "Plans to have any more down the line?'

M: "No, I think we are one and done.  We're so happy having her!"

MOT: *head tilt* "Noooooooo!!!!!! Don't say that, have at least one more.  You really need to."

Wait, what...I REALLY NEED to?  And what's with the head tilt?  Do you feel sorry for me?

Please don't.

Now, this could have been my chance to tell her about our years of (in)fertility hell, and the fact that our daughter is adopted, resulting in a 99.99% probability of her being our only child.  But, you see, we left our "I'm with my Adopted Child" tee shirt for me, and the baby's "I'm adopted" onesie at home.  I really need to better coordinate laundry day with mommy and me classes.

The logical gal within knows it was just small talk, and no harm was meant. Just one mommy talking to another, nothing more.  But the more I thought about it, the more the other side of Julie started to peek through, the one who analyzes everything over and over.  And then over and over some more.  

So, who are you again, and why do you insist I have more children?  

John and I have discussed over and over and over and over and over and over whether or not we should pursue having another child.  I will omit the details as to how we discussed going about this, but let's just say, we are not option-less.  Opportunities have presented themselves, and we chose not to move in that direction.

And at the end of the day, you wanna know what?

The person who previously longed to have a huge family is happier that she ever thought she could be with her family of three.  If I am being honest, I am actually a little surprised at how I really don't long to have another child.  I thought I would.  But, this little girl has filled my heart and life in ways I never dreamed of.  All of my expectations have been exceeded and I owe it all to one little giggling, 16 pound bundle of love.

Please don't get me wrong...for those of you who have two children, three, or more, that's awesome...for your family.  My own sister is blessed with three children and her house is always full of noise (the good kind!), siblings playing together, siblings loving one another, and siblings arguing over whatever.  I love that when one nephew is occupied, I turn around and there's another nephew right there to play with.  But three is what works for them.  And we are us.

So, please, mommy and me mom, no head tilting needed, no matter how well-intended you are.

Because, as for us...

One is good.  One is perfect.  One is all this family needs.  

Lisa

Since the unexpected passing of someone I've known, admired and loved for 14 years, my mind has been swirling with thoughts, memories and such sadness.  My friend is all I can think about.  And right now, she's all I want to write about.

I so vividly remember when I met Lisa, her husband Todd and their (then) 1 and a half year old blonde-haired, blue-eyed boy, Davis.  The details are at the forefront of my mind, and I have been playing those recordings in my head over and over for almost 48 hours.  I remember looking up to Lisa pretty much instantly.  At first sight, she was stunning, had a handsome husband, a beautiful little boy, a lovely home, and an exciting career.  Upon further insight, that all remained to be true, but I learned she was also equally as stunning on the inside, too.  

Lisa and Todd hired me to be their son's full time nanny.  The arrangement was perfect for all involved.  I was going to school in the evening to get my Master's Degree, and Lisa was home from work in time for me to get to my classes.  Todd and Lisa had important jobs in Manhattan and they needed someone who could take care of their son on a daily basis who they could trust implicitly.  They lived in Connecticut, so it was especially imperative that I made excellent decisions for their child when I was his caregiver because they couldn't drop everything and run home for a scraped knee.  I'm proud to say I don't think I ever let Todd and Lisa down.

When I turned 30, they came to my surprise party.  Davis and I were the first hospital visitors when Lisa and Todd's second child, the equally wonderful and adorable Evan was born. When I moved from New York to Florida, they came to my going away-party.  They were invited to my wedding.  They rejoiced with us when we brought our daughter home. They knew my relatives and I knew theirs.  We were family.  

Now, Lisa is gone.  

I still can't believe it.

When I think about her, I think about how much she taught me, though I had no idea at the time how valuable those lessons would be.  Lisa and I would talk like long-time friends, never like employer and employee.  Lisa would often come home with a little decoration for my apartment or a gift certificate for a manicure...just because she wanted me to know that I was appreciated.   Lesson 1: value the people in your life.  Don't just tell them.  Show them, too.

Lisa's job as a news reporter was serious more than not.  She reported on often grim circumstances around the tri-state area.  Yet, at home, she had SUCH a great, sharp, clever sense of humor.  I even found myself repeating one of the funny things she said in recent weeks.  She had a demanding job with unusual hours, a home to maintain, and family to care for.  Yet she always smiled and laughed.  She never seemed to take anything too seriously...including herself.  Lesson 2: Have a sense of humor, dammit.  Even when you may not feel like it.

When Lisa was very pregnant with Evan, Todd and I conspired together to give them a weekend at home alone as a little "stay-cation baby moon".  We planned it for Valentine's Day weekend and I took Davis to my parent's house so they could be alone and so my parents could spend time with Davis, who they loved.  I remember Lisa telling me how surprised and grateful she was to sleep in, dine out, and just be able to have uninterrupted time with Todd on no schedule.  Though technically I learned this lesson from Todd, I will never forget how much that weekend meant to Lisa, and I am so glad I was able to be a small part of that.  Lesson 3: Take care of your partner.  Surprise them and spoil them, even if it's just with an unexpected, uninterrupted weekend in your own home.  

Now that I am a mom, this next one is the most important, and I feel safe in saying that it was Lisa's priority, too.  Lesson 4:  Raise your children well.  Be there for them.  Support their passions in life.  Show them that with hard work, you can really have it all, as Lisa herself did.  I have no one single anecdote to share here because I could write forever about the first-hand experiences I had watching Lisa as a mom.  She was spectacular.  And I know I am a better mom to my daughter, and a better person, for that matter, just for having known her.

So, Lisa, this is my tribute to you from my little corner of the world.  

Thank you for your humor, your wit, your kindness, opening your heart to me, entrusting me with your children and embracing me as a family member.  

They say no one is really gone until the last time someone says their name.  That being said, Lisa, you will live on forever in the hearts, minds, and words of all who loved you, including me.

Love.

Sometimes I felt like infertility was a scarlet letter.  It's there all the time, and I felt labeled and marked.  I thought that because strangers didn't see me with sippy cups or a supply of crayons coming out of my handbag, that they just know I couldn't make a baby.  Anyone who looked at me saw that I was of proper baby making age (and getting older my the minute!), wore wedding-ish jewelry on the appropriate finger, and yet no sign of a small child in my daily life.  I wondered sometimes if others silently pitied me.  I thought these things because I pitied myself.  Yep- I felt t it regularly and typed it here in black and white for all to see.  It's not pretty, but it's the truth.  And...if one more person asked me "So, when are you guys going to have a baby?" I was going to lose. my. mind. 

I also felt sorry for John.

John.  One of the reasons I fell in love with him is because I knew he'd be the BEST dad.  During our courtship, my sister's boys were aged preschool and baby.   He got down on the floor and played cars and trucks with the big one. He would hold the little one and make funny faces and silly noises for him.  True story from our wedding weekend: various obligations took every adult out of my house and left the following combination of people behind: John, and our nephews, then aged 6 years and 18 months.  During my bridal pedicure, I got a text from John that read : Uncle John 0, red velvet cupcake diaper, 1. Our little nephew had enjoyed a red velvet cupcake the day before and now poor John was getting to experience that on the flip side of things.  But, he didn't complain, and jumped into full uncle mode, taking care of business.  (Side note: we still joke about this experience years later- apparently it was quite unpleasant for all involved). When I returned home with my mom and sister, the three musketeers were on the back patio and the little one had no shirt on.  One may assume that uncle John couldn't be bothered to re-dress the child who gave him such a messy chore an hour before.  But the reason the little one was shirtless is because he was "drinking" a bottle of water.  And by "drinking", I mean that the little one decided he'd enjoy his beverage more if his new Uncle dispensed the water to him- one capful at a time. John had removed the lad's shirt in seeing that toddlers don't have the most finesse in drinking from water bottle caps.  But the fact that he was wiling to cater to this child and patiently dole out capfuls of water to his new little nephew...well, it was just one of 1,000 moments that confirmed to me that John would be such a great dad.  Fast forward to present day, and John is now the uncle to three small nephews.  He is so great with each of them, fully ingrained in their lives with stories about life in school,  an understanding about the importance of "Toy Story" characters, and more funny faces and silly noises for the new little one.  As proud as I was that I picked such an amazing uncle for my nephews, I couldn't help but focus on and often go back to how I knew that I picked such an amazing daddy for our future kids.  I use the word "daddy" here because anyone can be a father, but not everyone is a "daddy".  My sister and I grew up with a daddy, and I marred a future one--- now all we needed was little being to give John the opportunity to be the amazing daddy I know he would be. 

So, yeah, I did feel bad for us.  We were parents without a child. 

All of that changed with one phone call last summer to tell us that we had been chosen by birthparents to adopt our baby girl.  In an instant, we were about to become parents in a little over three months.  Naturally, it was amazing, and we were on Cloud 9.  But as happy as I was, I found that I couldn't let myself just be happy.  I couldn't let go and just feel it.  I cautiously selected baby furniture and chose outfits and did all of the wonderful and exciting things a mommy-to-be does to prepare for her baby.  I was elated and felt incredibly blessed, but I was also completely terrified.  Impending motherhood had not been kind to me before, and I was terrified of being crushed again.

Fast forward to our daughter's birthday.  The joy I felt upon laying eyes on her for the first time was unmatched by anything else I had ever experienced.  And from that day on, a little more of the sadness from our previous losses has subsided and is now fading into non-existence.  I am a mom.  More importantly, I am HER mom.  And she was worth everything it took to get us to be a family.  This family.

And, as I sit here typing this, the most delicious baby ever born sits to my right.  She is kicking me on my arm, playing with her hands, and making cooing noises that I pray sink into my brain so I always remember what they sound like when she's older.  

They say time heals wounds, and yes it does.  But for me, it was love. 

In and Out

As I took my shower yesterday, the last day of 2014 at 4:00 PM (that's how I roll these days if I'm not scheduled to be out of the house before then), I couldn't help but think about all that 2014 brought.  It was undoubtedly a huge year for our family.  On January 1, 2014 John took a picture of me sitting at our dining room table putting the finishing touches on our adoption application for our lawyer.  Now, on January 1, 2015, I was looking at John and our beautiful daughter together on the couch today watching Star Trek.  (one is watching, one is dozing in and out of sleep...I'm certain you can guess who was who).  It just seems funny to me how life is full of things and life changing events that move in and out.

The A-number-1 example of this for me is literally a matter of life and death.  In March, I stood by a hospital bed as I said goodbye to my last living grandparent.  Several months later, I stood by a different hospital bed and welcomed my daughter to the world.  Both occasions involved a great deal of tears and emotions that ran incredibly deep. 

So, as I was reflecting on my 2014 and all that it held for me, I couldn't help but wonder: in order to let something in, do we need to let something out?

In January 2014, I was still healing from a pregnancy loss.  Sure, I had come light years from where I had been just months earlier, (I was getting out of bed on a regular basis and could be in the same vicinity of a baby) but I still had that due date to let come and go, and it was flashing in my mind like a giant neon sign.  But, the date came in, John and I dealt with it together, and I was able to let some more sadness out.  Doing so helped me to ready myself that much more for motherhood to our daughter, I am certain.  Little did I know that at the time we were letting some of these incredibly sad things out, our daughter's first ultrasound was being conducted and we were mere months away from our lives being forever changed.  We were about to let so, so much in.

With January 2015 upon us, John and I are thinking about all there is to come: first steps, first words, first foods, and a first birthday. Never before have 365 days seemed to hold so much possibility and excitement for me.  I can't wait to take it all in.