A Gift

It's no secret I've struggled to come to terms with this pregnancy.

Struggled.

I'm set to be induced in a few hours and can honestly say I've moved to a little bit better place.

(Collective Sigh of Relief)

That's not to say I didn't cry at school today or on my way home or at the cemetery, but something happened this afternoon that brought me some peace. It was a gift really.

And I'd been begging for it, well, forever.

This is what I found tonight while straightening up the basement.

Well hello to you too.

The handwriting is unmistakable; the feeling, indescribable.

A simple little note laying right by the leg of the couch.

I opened it up and -

Nothing.

No matter.

Do I think Addie buzzed down and delivered this message while I was at school today?

No.

That'd be crazy, right?

Was there a perfectly good explanation as to how it got there?

Ummm, sort of.

Do I think I ran across this note at the exact moment I was meant to?

Absolutely.

Hey, that follow by email button works

I finally figured out how to place a "follow by email" button on my blog. Look to your right. See it? Yep, right there.

I didn't realize until recently that blog followers weren't receiving email notifications (oops). So, you can thank my mom, a couple of my aunts, and a co-worker for pointing that out to me.

If you want to subscribe, type in your email. It'll have you put in one of those security thingies that are really hard to read. Then you'll get an activation email sent to your account. Click it and wait. Eventually I'll write something and you'll get that email notification.

Sorry it took me so long to figure that out.

A Big Enough Heart

When I was pregnant with Isaac - well into my third trimester, I believe - I remember wondering how a mother could possibly find room in her heart to love another child. It sounds awful to admit, doesn't it?

Certainly I'm not the only mom who struggled with this notion.

Let me give you a little back-story here. Addie was our one and only for five years. Five years. Our lives revolved around every. little. thing. that. she. did. Trust me. I have the photographs to prove it. She had our full attention and all the love we had to give every second of every day.

How could we possibly love another as much as we love her?

Turns out, you just do.

I remember everything about snapping this picture of Addie
and Isaac. So precious.

You make room in your heart. Either that, or your heart gets a little bigger. I don't know which.

Then one day you realize you can't hardly imagine life without that second child.

And third.

Welcome to our family, Tripp Maguire.

Sweet, sweet sister.

                                   

I have no idea where Baby T is, but I've always
 loved this picture.

                                   
Now we're up to four and I find myself wondering once again.

Is my heart big enough?

Gosh, I hope so.

My family.

***

It is true, you know.

You can't hardly imagine life without any of them.

So why do we have to?

Save the Date

If you've been keeping tabs on this pregnancy, then you're well aware that this baby's due date is rapidly approaching.

In like 16 days.

And if you haven't been keeping tabs on this pregnancy, don't feel bad. I haven't either.

Part of this is the fact that this is our fourth child. I'll be the first to admit I was one of those moms who faithfully read the weekly updates in my own personal copy of What to Expect When You're Expecting during pregnancies No. 1 and 2. Not so much with No. 3. And with No. 4, I'm pretty sure my copy is sitting on the shelves of a Goodwill store somewhere.

And part of the reason I haven't been able tell you exactly how many weeks along I am is, well, I haven't been able to admit time marches on.

Apparently, it does.

I realized this last week when my OB asked whether we were going to induce or not.

Ugh.

Don't get me wrong. I'm tired of being pregnant. The heartburn. The swollen hands. The lack of sleep. The 45-pound 46-pound weight gain. But, once this little one arrives, there's no turning back. We'll have to deal with happiness, sadness, and half a dozen other emotions. Plus, it means I'll have one other person to love. And fear losing.

"What would you like me to do?" I asked.

"I'd like you to induce."

She wants to do this because I've reached "advanced maternal age." In other words, I'm old. Funny, I used to think I was old, but now I feel so incredibly young - considering the fact that I'll most likely have to wait another 50 years to see my Addie again.

I digress.

Truth be told, I probably will opt for induction.

I've done it twice before and I'll be the first to admit my reasons for doing so weren't exactly medical. Isaac and Tripp were both April babies. Do you know what it's like to be a teacher in April? Let me tell you, it's enough to make you want to induce a week early.

So I did.

But this time around I'm just not so sure.

If you know how I feel about certain dates, then you'll understand why picking one is so dang hard.

But I also know over the course of three babies I've cut my labors from 14 hours to four. And I know that we now live about an hour away from the hospital. And I also had the distinct pleasure of Scott hitting every single red light on 144th Street last Saturday. Not a good plan for a mom in labor.

So what if this baby chooses to have a mind of her own and opts to arrive on one of those bad days?

Well, then maybe that day will be a little bit better.

The Dash

March 28, 2002 - March 26, 2012.

The best day and the worst day of my life.

Etched in stone.

Even though every single thing about this is wrong, Addison Shelby's headstone turned out right.

By most people's standards, it's a little on the simple side. Black granite. A few lines. Her picture. Her name. Dates. And a dash.

A dash.

For those not familiar with Linda Ellis' poem The Dash, it speaks of love, loss and the life lived between a person's first day on earth and her last.

It urges us to make the most out of our dash.

To spend time, not money.

To live. And love.

Like most, I've loved and lost family members who've lived well into their 90s.

But I've felt my heart literally break in two when I lost a baby girl who was a mere 9 years, 11 months, and 28 days into her life.

The well-adjusted version of myself is willing to smile and nod when people tell me how much Addie was able to accomplish in such a short time. And yes, I have to agree. She did. The well-adjusted version of myself would also take a cue from Addie and try to live what's left of my dash to the fullest.

But let's face it. I'm not that well-adjusted.

Tonight, the mom in me longs for the little girl who would slide down the hallway in her socks, ask me to sign her planner, and give me two pats on the back when I tuck her in and kiss her goodnight.

As I peek into her room and look at her empty bed, I come to the same, sad realization I do every night.

I have to wait a lifetime to see her again.

***

The Dash Poem
by Linda Ellis

I read of a man who stood to speak
At the funeral of a friend
He referred to the dates on her tombstone
From the beginning to the end

He noted that first came the date of her birth
And spoke the following date with tears,
But he said what mattered most of all
Was “the dash” between those years

For that dash represents all the time
That she spent alive on earth.
And now only those who loved her
Know what that little line is worth.

For it matters not how much we own;
The cars, the house, the cash,
What matters is how we live and love
And how we spend our dash.

So think about this long and hard.
Are there things you’d like to change?
For you never know how much time is left,
That can still be rearranged.

If we could just slow down enough
To consider what’s true and real
And always try to understand
The way other people feel.

And be less quick to anger,
And show appreciation more
And love the people in our lives
Like we’ve never loved before.

If we treat each other with respect,
And more often wear a smile
Remembering that this special dash
Might only last a little while.

So, when your eulogy is being read
With your life’s actions to rehash
Would you be proud of the things they say
About how you spent your dash”

Finding Our Way

"Just keep swimming."

"Just keep swimming."

"Just keep swimming, swimming, swimming..."

Words made famous by a little blue fish named Dorie in the 2003 hit movie Finding Nemo.

If you think this post is going to be about how our family has adopted little blue's sing song-y mantra as our own, it's not.

This post is about choices.

Specifically, the choices we make as parents.

You see, Nemo was Addie's baby-sitter all-time favorite movie from age 18 months to probably about age 4. Pop that baby in and you knew you could get a little work done around the house - if you didn't get sucked into watching it too. Shark Bait, Hoo-Ha-Ha.

But, being the cautious parents that we were, Scott and I always went to great lengths to start that DVD at Chapter 2. If you're at all familiar with the movie, then you know the opening scene shows Nemo's parents, Marlin and Coral, scoping out their new digs. Then a big, bad fish swoops in, eats all but one of the 'lil fish eggs, and mom.

Yes, mom.

Our little girl was not going to play witness to that.

Too scary.

Fast-forward a few years to Marley and Me.

Oh, Marley and Me. I've only seen that tear-jerker once and once was enough.

Even though we have it stored on DVR, Addie the animal lover, never got to see it. Because her parents said she couldn't.

Too sad.

These were the choices we, as parents, made to protect our little girl - along with keeping up with childhood immunizations and enforcing the look both ways before you cross the street rule. Heck, we even kept all of children in rear-facing car seats way past the guidelines just to be safe.

Safe.

What's that?

There's nothing safe with a cancer diagnosis, but there's a whole lot of scary. And sad.

I'm often left to wonder how this will affect the choices we make in regards to Isaac, Tripp, and Baby No. 4. It sure seemed like we did everything "right" and yet we still ended up with a pretty crappy deal.

What more can we do?

Routine blood draws, I guess. I'm only half-serious. It's not as if I take the boys in every month and request a CBC. But I'd be lying if I said they haven't each had one.

So what about Nemo?

Do they get to see it in its entirety? Yes. But let's face it. We'd relaxed (a bit) in our parenting ways long before this.

And Marley?

Lucky for us, we have a few more years before we have to address that one.

But it's not as if my boys don't know sad.

And that, to me, is sad.

Waiting

Last weekend I found myself in organization mode. It's too early for nesting (I think), so I'm guessing this was more of a "let's see what I can do to keep my mind occupied for an hour or two" thing.

Whatever it was, I found myself knee-deep in a pile of papers and pictures. In the midst of it all was a note from my Grandma Reynolds dated March 21, 2002. Here's what it said:

Dear Jamie, Scott and Bailey,

My new "cute as a button" picture holder is sitting on the coffee table waiting for pictures of the littlest one! We have plenty of film too! Thank you so much!

We're happy that you could join us on such short notice to meet us at the Cracker Barrel. That was fun...

Now, we're waiting! And we know you are too.

Love,
G'ma

Waiting.

With such anticipation for our first child (and their first great-grandchild) to arrive.

For seven days we waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Then we scheduled an induction. Not because I was overdue, but because my doctor was going to be out of town and I did not want anyone else to deliver this precious babe.

Addie, it seemed, had different plans and I went into labor the day before the scheduled induction. Oh how she loved to hear the story of me kicking her dad out of our double bed. Yes, double bed. A pregnant woman and her husband slept in a double bed.  I can't even imagine. Anyway, Scott's incessant snoring was ga-rating on my nerves, so I shooed him down to the basement. And two hours later I had to humbly waddle down the stairs to inform Sleepy that I was in labor.

We called the doctor and our moms and dads and wouldn't you know the first people to show up at the hospital were Grandpa and Grandma Reynolds. So excited, so ready to welcome this little human being into their family, so not realizing that they just might play witness to their first favorite granddaughter (me) using language that might best be described as colorful. Don't worry, mom, I didn't let anything slip before the epidural man arrived and Grandpa and Grandma departed.

Throughout the day doctors and nurses came and went, the big hand made its way around the clock, the little hand did too, and at 4:05 p.m. Addison Shelby entered this world.

And you better believe Grandpa and Grandma Reynolds (along with a whole host of family) were out in the waiting room, well, waiting.

Grandpa and Grandma Reynolds, my mom and Addie.

To celebrate.

To ooh and ahh.

To tell this little baby how much they loved her and wanted her to be a part of their lives.

And so last night as Grandma Reynolds took her very last breath, I wanted to be there.

To tell her how much I loved her and how happy I was that she was such an important part of my life.

To know without a doubt that there were two very important people on the other side waiting for her to ooh, ahh, and celebrate that wonderful place we call Heaven and they call Home.

Grandma, Addie, and I shared birthday celebrations
for many years.

In recent years, we had to share birthdays with Isaac
and Tripp too. Here's a picture from last year.

Love you, Grandma.

P.S. Take care of my little girl 'til I get there.