These moments of alone are hard to come by these days. It seems every time I turn around there is someone who needs to be fed, or held, or washed. Baby boy is not a great sleeper, so I find I'm going through the motions of my day with eyes half closed, existing in a sleepless fog. When I can catch a fleeting moment of alone-ness, I close my eyes and try to sleep before anyone notices and decides they need me again.
It's a hard season. A season where I feel like I am tending to everyone else's needs and rarely my own. Most nights I brush my teeth to the soundtrack of a wailing baby, or shower while little hands bang on the door demanding that I get out, or eat my kids' half eaten bagels for breakfast because the baby is screaming and I have to get my daughter to the bus stop in the next three minutes. There are days I reach the end of my rope and close the bathroom door, and turn on the fan, so that I can cry without anyone hearing me.
And yet, underneath all the stress, and all the growing pains of adding another child to our family, there is joy and indescribable gratitude. Gratitude for the miracle of three precious children who call me "mama."
And I've noticed that along with that joy there is also still a feeling that someone is missing and the truth that even with the birth of our little boy, I still have a child in Heaven that I long for. The pain of last year has softened, but has not disappeared.
I think deep down, I expected that with the birth of our rainbow baby, I would no longer feel the sense of loss that I carried last year. I remember a conversation with a close friend before getting pregnant with Caleb where I confided to her that I felt like if I could just get pregnant again, maybe it would be like the baby I lost was coming back to me. Although I knew rationally this was impossible, I think I just desperately wanted to undo the loss that had been done. I wanted to make right what had gone wrong. But, as my friend gently reminded me, we know this is not how God works. Each child He creates is unique and my baby at 11 weeks is now in the arms of the Father. And now we have Caleb, who is meant just for us at this exact time.
I find that my mind often wanders to the baby that we lost. I'll be cuddling Caleb, or watching Josh and Abby play and I'll wonder, how old would he or she be right now? What is he or she doing in Heaven? Some days, like today, I have moments when I still cry thinking about it. Those are the moments I walk over to Caleb, pick him up, and bury my face into the rolls of his little baby neck and breathe deeply, and thank God for the miracle of my Rainbow.
Having a baby after miscarriage is wonderful, and hard. Wonderful because I rejoice over this new life, and hard because sometimes it feels like people expect my new baby to erase the grief I carried before he was born. And I'm sure some people do expect that of me, but if I'm really honest, I think maybe it's what I expected most of myself. And that expectation often leaves me feeling guilty for the moments that I hold my little boy while still thinking of my baby in Heaven. Or guilty when I complain about the sleepless nights spent nursing a fussy baby, because they are what I prayed for most after my loss.
But I'm finding that having my Rainbow baby is simply another step towards healing, not the healing itself. I'm reconciling the fact that I can be joyful in this season and yet still experience moments of grief.
I often come face to face with this truth when I'm asked the Question. I've been getting it a lot since having Caleb. It seems to be the question I am asked the most, especially when I don't have the other two kids with me. It comes in a few forms. People take one look at my chubby little boy and ask, "What number baby is this?" or "How many do you have?" On the outside, it seems like a simple enough question. But for a mom who has lost a child, the answer feels complicated. My answer often varies. I often just call him my third, for simplicity's sake. But I never feel quite right when I say it, because I know he is really my fourth, and somehow I feel like I'm forgetting my third baby by saying so. But to launch into how I lost a baby, which makes him my fourth, but also my third, leads to an awkward moment that I don't really want to navigate either.
I was at a mom's group the other day, and a mom innocently asked, "So, is this your third baby?"And I remember feeling the familiar twinge in my stomach as I debated how to answer. In a rare moment of courage I answered, "No, he is my fourth baby, but third in our family since I lost one to miscarriage." I braced myself for the awkward moment that often follows.
"Oh, I understand. I lost one too," she answered, "and sometimes it's hard for me to answer that question." And I looked into her eyes, and could tell that she really did understand, and it made all the difference. She remembered her baby, just like I remember mine. And suddenly I felt less alone in navigating this new season.
Having a baby after miscarriage has changed the way I experience the newborn period in so many wonderful ways too. It makes the sweet moments sweeter, and the difficult moments easier. When it's 3am and Caleb doesn't want to go back to sleep and decides he wants to stay awake and coo at me, I take advantage of the moment to tickle him and listen to his silly laugh. When he is screaming in the evening before bed, inconsolable, and my husband hands him to me to nurse him for what feels like the millionth time, I tell myself what a privilege it is to have a healthy baby and to be the one person in the world who can calm him down. The day when he first returned my smile with a big, toothless grin, I felt my legs turn to jello and my heart melted right out of my body. I make sure every single day to look deeply into his baby blue eyes, and remind myself how lucky I am to be his mama.
Just now, as I finish writing, I hear my little one waking up from his nap in the sunshine. It's time to feed him, and hold him, and turn on the music and dance together. And I know one day I will dance with a very special baby in Heaven too. And today I thank God for all four of my most precious blessings who call me mama.
