Prompted by St Francis

The time has come to
live intentionally
Yesterday is
full of grace
I long for
my life to reflect my values
Now I want to
slow down
No excuses
to leave the present moment
My life
happens one day at a time
Tomorrow is
full of grace

Red hot pizza

Last night I learned that spices really do alter the taste of food! I usually follow directions with spices, but sometimes I add a "touch" more -- probably in secret hopes that I will come up with some awesome recipe that everyone will love and ask for.

So I made homemade pizza last night. The recipe calls for a little bit of crushed red pepper, and I followed the instructions perfectly. But then I remembered that the last time I made pizza, Adam had said the dough was a little tasteless. So I thought, hey, I'll just add some spices to it. So I added some garlic powder, and onion salt, and... crushed red pepper. Lots of it.

Adam took one bite and had to get a drink of water immediately. He managed to eat 2 pieces, but downed 3 glasses of water in the process. And afterwards he said his lips were burning! Hmm. He can eat more spicy foods than me, so after watching him, I knew I was not going to get my nice pizza dinner last night. I picked at it here and there, and ended up eating a bowl of cereal instead :(

I had also planned on giving some of the pizza to Ivy, as I'm trying to give her the same foods that we eat, but after seeing Adam's reaction, I opted not to!

Despite the spicy-ness of the pizza, Adam said he wanted to save the rest of it. So, it's in our fridge. Anyone want some red hot pizza?

My other baby

Sweet Ivy Grace turns 1 year old today. She has brought so much joy to our lives. We love her so much!

My baby

Dedicating today to the memory of my first born son, Zach, whom I lost two years ago today. He will always be my first born, and I will never stop loving him.

In loving remembrance.

Current reflection

For the first time in a number of years, I can honestly say that I am happy. Happy.

My long winter is over. I feel springtime inside me and I have been wanting to share the blooms. Hopefully I can get back into blogging soon. I don't know if I can hold it inside much longer.

Disappointment
Disillusionment
Distrust
Despair
Depression
Death

Hope
Help
Healing
Harmony
Humanity
Holiness
Him

Isn’t that what Christmas is all about?

What a difference a year makes

One year ago today we found out I was pregnant with Ivy. That began 9 long months of hope mixed with fear. But we made it through and now she is here with us. We have experienced so much healing through having her in our lives. I cannot imagine life without her now. I love her so much!

Suprised by joy, gratitude... and grief

What a summer this has been. There were many days (months, years!) that I wondered if I would ever be spending my days caring for a baby - my baby. The joy and wonder and relief have been powerful. During times of intense frustration and exhaustion (common to all new parents, I know), I am sometimes overcome with a sense of gratitude. The theme of remembrance is still at the front of my mind- remembering where I have been, what I have gone through, what it has taken to bring little Ivy into the world. When I remember the years of hopelessness and pain and grief and longing, the current sleeplessness and feelings of being overwhelmed are a little more bearable. What a true gift she is - I just cannot get over the realization that she's really here, and she's healthy, and she's all mine. I am living out a dream that only existed in my mind for such a long time. And for that, I am thankful.

Alongside of this is remembrance of those around me who are hurting in this area. I have three dear friends who all have been trying to conceive for over 2 years. So many potential babies lost, every month! A professor at my old job just lost his 6 year old son to cancer after fighting for his life for 4 1/2 years. The funeral was heartbreaking and gut-wrenching. I almost had to leave, it was so painful. I just heard today about a classmate of my husband's whose baby, diagnosed with severe defects, died in the womb just a few weeks away from the due date. I also heard today about a friend of a friend, who had a miscarriage last year and is pregnant again, only to find out this baby has severe defects of the limbs (though as I understand it, thankfully this baby should live). These precious little children! It hurts so much to see them and their families suffer. My heart breaks and tears flow with each of these as I remember them and their pain, and again I am filled with a sense of deep gratitude. Why have we been blessed when others are hurting so? We have been showered with grace - and that is part of the reason we chose Grace as Ivy's middle name.


Still, despite my joy and gratitude, I did not expect to be simultaneously overwhelmed with grief. While I know from reading about others' experiences that it is not uncommon for a bereaved parent to experience renewed grief upon the birth of a subsequent child, I had hopes that I had done "such a good job" at working my way through my grief over Zach that perhaps it wouldn't still haunt me after Ivy was born.

But it does. The intense grief I often save for my counseling visits - at home I really dont have the time or energy to fully immerse myself in it. After all, I've got a beautiful baby girl to love and take care of, so the thoughts that pop up into my head are usually relegated to a sense of sadness of what should have been. After all, tomorrow, we should have been celebrating little Zach's 1st birthday (it is the anniversary of his due date). The realization of this fact is incredibly painful - the intensity of which has surprised me. Honestly, if I think about it for very long, I get a very real physical pain in my heart.


And yet, the fact remains that while I do have two children, I can never have both of them here with me. While I feel that I would do anything to get Zach back, I wouldn't give up Ivy to get him back. A mother's heart torn. (I realize no one is asking me to choose between my children - but it is a feeling I struggle with). The birth of my precious daughter has given me renewed hope, real joy, and an overwhelming sense of relief. I love her like crazy and am so happy she is here. But still, complete peace evades me, for I have two children, yet we are a family of three, not four. The word I think that best describes this situation I'm in is bittersweet.

Tomorrow Adam and I are going to the cemetery where little Zach is buried. I'd like to go remembering not only him and what would have been, but the others I've mentioned.

Dedicated to the memory of my little baby boy Zach, who would have turned one year old tomorrow.

The Couch

I love our living room couches. This was the first set of furniture that Adam and I ever bought, and we have been pleased with our purchase since day one.

I have spent many hours on the main couch. Many evenings I have sat on the couch and read books, or watched a movie with Adam, or visited with friends or family. Since I went part time at work, I have spent many afternoons napping on this couch as well.

Today I laid on this couch in our living room and let my sweet daughter take a nap on my chest. She napped with me for over an hour. I began reflecting in wonder on this.

This is the same couch where I spent much time dreaming of being pregnant and having children, and crying in frustration (sometimes alone, sometimes with Adam, sometimes with friends) as we dealt with infertility. This is the same couch where my parents were sitting when we first told them we were pregnant with Zach. The same couch where I napped when pregnant with Zach, dreaming dreams of the little baby inside. This is the same couch where I spent hours agonizing and grieving over his death and trying to grasp what happened to my precious son. Where I sat furiously writing my thoughts to God in anger and anguish, where I tried to soothe my wounded heart listening to soft music, and where I spent hours watching people and cars go by through the window. Where I spent much time reading every book I could get my hands on that would minister to me. Where I was sitting when I thought I might be miscarrying after finding out I was pregnant last May. And it is the same couch where Adam was sitting when I told him the doctor's office had told me I was pregnant with Ivy last September (and where I freaked out, worrying that it was going to be another miscarriage).

And now, I am taking naps on this couch with my beautiful daughter. I can't believe she's here. I can't believe she's real. I can't believe she's mine. What a joy to share this couch with her.

Here comes the sun

Ivy Grace Moore
Born Mothers Day, Sunday May 13th, 3:27 am
7 pounds, 20 inches

_________________________________

Here comes the sun, here comes the sun
And I say it's all right

Little darlin' it's been a long cold lonely winter
Little darlin' it feels like years since it's been here

Here comes the sun, here comes the sun
And I say it's all right

Little darlin' the smiles returning to their faces
Little darlin' it seems like years since it's been here

Here comes the sun, here comes the sun
And I say it's all right
...

Little darlin' I feel the ice is slowly meltin'
Little darlin' it seems like years since it's been clear

Here come the sun, here comes the sun
And I say it's all right

Here come the sun, here comes the sun
It's all right, it's all right

Reflections

I realize it has been awhile since I've posted. My "reflections" have been few and far between as of late. My brain, heart and body have been extremely preoccupied and overwhelmed by a million thoughts and emotions as I prepare to give birth to a healthy, live, baby -- something I have many times wondered if was ever possible. (See my "waiting" blog for the birth plans...).

Being a naturally introspective and reflective person, I feel like I have lost myself somewhat in the last few months - but then again, that feeling is not new at all. It's something I've dealt with over the past 3 to 4 years. A kind of numbness or emptiness, I guess.

However, I do feel some yearning inside. Yearning for a sense of who I really am, but more than that, yearning for my God. I can say that it's been awhile since I've consciously made time to think about/spend time with Him, especially since my reading material has been solely pregnancy/baby/parenting for the last 2 to 3 months. The last "spiritual" book I read was "Where is God when bad things happen." (very well worth my time, by the way). However, just because I haven't consciously made time to think about Him does not necessarily mean He has not invaded my thoughts here and there.

I feel almost like I'm setting myself up for defeat if I expect to reconnect with God at the same time as trying to take care of a newborn infant (and being a first time parent). You know, all the people that say your life as you know it is over, you'll never sleep again or have time to yourself, etc. I'm not saying those things aren't true - I certainly want to have realistic expectations about parenthood, and in all the years I've been strongly desiring to be a mother, I have never tried to gloss over all the difficulties and hardships that I know/have been told come with it. But I, and Adam, for that matter, do have a hope (even if just a small one) that this birth and subsequent relationship with our child will begin (continue?) to bridge a very deep chasm between us and God - that is, that it will be a strong agent towards healing. Deep healing. Will you hope with us?

Zach's genkgo

I am happy to say that Zach's genkgo tree survived the winter! This picture was taken last week - and the tree has changed tremendously even since then. There are many more green leaves on it now. It's really beautiful. We really are relieved to see it budding, because all during the winter it gave us no sign as to whether it was still alive or not, and we don't know the first thing about "raising" trees...