C.T. will be one year old tomorrow. I can't believe it. He has perfected holding up his pointer finger with pride when we ask him "how old will you be on your birthday?" When we practice singing happy birthday to him, he pretends to blow out his candles before we get even half way through the song. He is such a big boy already. He registered 23 pounds, 9 oz, in fact, today at his 12 month well-baby check up. (No wonder my back is sore most of the time)...
It's overwhelming to even try to think back to a year ago. On this night one year ago, we were scared C.T. might just slip away right in time for my scheduled induction the next day. That's sort of how we lived each day of those months - expecting the absolute worst and thanking God for each additional day with him. Weak from bedrest, exhausted from 16 months of grief, healing, grasping for hope, stretched like a balloon and with 9 months worth of bruised injection sites, I was a wreck that night. B was too. I really don't know how we made it through those 38 and 1/2 weeks.
And now, well after his birth, we still find ourselves shaking our heads in disbelief that C.T. is here. That we have been granted 351 days (outside of the womb) with him so far. That he is ours to hold. That there is a chance that he might actually outlive us. That though our sadness is always there, he has brought so much joy back into our lives.
Happy birthday, my sweet C.T. Mommy and daddy love you so very much. B.W. does too. He looks down on you each and every day - probably watching out for you. Lucky boy.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Saturday, January 10, 2009
Motherhood
Last week, I got one of those questions from a colleague I see maybe 3-4 times a year. A question that most mothers are delighted to hear. A question that I'm 100% sure he intended as harmless. In fact, I think he was genuinely interested to hear my response. Fully unaware that the words can still send me spinning a bit. That my heart still breaks a little to hear them, though they're simply conversational to him.
"So, how is motherhood?" (with a wink and a bit of a wise-guy dad-of-3 grin)
Not an unusual question to ask a "new" mom. I guess that is what he considers me - new to my role of mother, new to the job and daily act of mothering.
For him, looking from the outside-in, it's as if B.W. never existed. Or that because he died, that motherhood was somehow postponed for me. Or that since he died back in 2006, it's been so long and so much has transpired that you might as well forget that I was a mother before C.T. was born. Truly, I didn't expect that this colleague would ask "so, how is mothering your dead child these days... what's his name again?" That he would allude to how I'm doing with his absence 2 years and 3 months later. That just socially doesn't happen. And, I really do like when people take an interest in C.T. and what he's doing. It's just that I'm proud of the mothering I do for both of my boys. When someone asks about my "motherhood", I think of my two sons - equally. I'm just not allowed to talk about it in public.
So, I played nice, like I always do. I obliged and filled my colleague in on C.T.'s latest tricks, the plan for his first birthday party, the wonder in his eyes at Christmas time. I smiled and laughed and truly enjoyed a moment to talk about my sweet boy, pretending, right along with him, that C.T. encompasses the totality of my motherhood. If only I could have added that it's been bittersweet. That while C.T. has brought so much joy, B.W. was missed so much this holiday season. That this marked our third Christmas without our firstborn. That I continue to "mother" B.W. in so many ways...
This, for bereaved parents all over the globe, is just one of a thousand often painful questions/comments that come up in day-to-day conversation. I can probably spout off 100 of them off the top of my head. Which are your most un-favorite(s)? Have you built up your callous to them or do some still send you reeling?
"So, how is motherhood?" (with a wink and a bit of a wise-guy dad-of-3 grin)
Not an unusual question to ask a "new" mom. I guess that is what he considers me - new to my role of mother, new to the job and daily act of mothering.
For him, looking from the outside-in, it's as if B.W. never existed. Or that because he died, that motherhood was somehow postponed for me. Or that since he died back in 2006, it's been so long and so much has transpired that you might as well forget that I was a mother before C.T. was born. Truly, I didn't expect that this colleague would ask "so, how is mothering your dead child these days... what's his name again?" That he would allude to how I'm doing with his absence 2 years and 3 months later. That just socially doesn't happen. And, I really do like when people take an interest in C.T. and what he's doing. It's just that I'm proud of the mothering I do for both of my boys. When someone asks about my "motherhood", I think of my two sons - equally. I'm just not allowed to talk about it in public.
So, I played nice, like I always do. I obliged and filled my colleague in on C.T.'s latest tricks, the plan for his first birthday party, the wonder in his eyes at Christmas time. I smiled and laughed and truly enjoyed a moment to talk about my sweet boy, pretending, right along with him, that C.T. encompasses the totality of my motherhood. If only I could have added that it's been bittersweet. That while C.T. has brought so much joy, B.W. was missed so much this holiday season. That this marked our third Christmas without our firstborn. That I continue to "mother" B.W. in so many ways...
This, for bereaved parents all over the globe, is just one of a thousand often painful questions/comments that come up in day-to-day conversation. I can probably spout off 100 of them off the top of my head. Which are your most un-favorite(s)? Have you built up your callous to them or do some still send you reeling?
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