"Timehop" ... and how much I wish I could.

Timehop is this nifty little program that looks into your past and reminds you where you were, what you were doing, what you were sharing in past years on this date.

Pretty cool right?

Most days it is.  It's also a peculiar reflection into the past and how different life is now and how much things can change.

My Timehop has been especially triggering for me these past few months, and probably through the rest of the year. It's mixed with "One Year Ago Today" of pictures of a toddling Delaney celebrating her first year of life with "Five Years Ago Today" and celebrating my growing belly with Colton.

Five years.

Anniversaries trigger in different ways at different times.  First of course is hard.  Though the first year is such a blur you wake up on that first anniversary and think "really? can it be a year already?".  Then the years ebb and flow. But five. Five years.

Colton would be in pre-k. Since he was due in December (I still think he would have come in January) he wouldn't be starting kinder yet.  But he would be in "school" and gearing up for the great things ahead.  He'd be way past "baby" stuff.  Would he want to see Ant Man? Would we go to Disney for his birthday? Or probably Legoland. He'd probably enjoy Legoland ....

Would he still have wavy  hair or would it have straightened out? Would he prefer hot wheels or legos or maybe even baby dolls...

Would he like Mickey Mouse Clubhouse or Agent Oso? Handy Manny? 

Would he like vegetables? Would he ask me to make him cookies like sissy does now? Would he prefer chocolate chip or snickerdoodles...

Five years ago I was wondering all these same things. Then, though, I thought I would learn all the answers.

A year ago today.... Happy Birthday, Delaney.

A year ago today I met my little girl. The biggest blessing I never knew I wanted or needed.

Delaney's pregnancy was physically beautiful and easy. I wasn't in maternity clothes until the sixth month, very little weight gain, perfect blood pressure throughout ... healthy and happy in every way.  She always measured on track and the pregnancy was progressing picture perfect.

Emotionally I was a wreck most of the time. The circumstances were difficult.  But, more so, the fear was paralyzing many days. 

Every morning when I woke I would lay still and wait to feel her move.  I would sigh out the breath I didn't know I was holding when she'd begin to stir inside my womb.  Every day that I was blessed to feel her was another day closer to - hopefully - meeting her.  I lost count of how many batteries I went through with the at-home Doppler that was always by my side.  I was paranoid and scared every day. Would this be my last day with her?  I had no warning with Colton.  One day he was just ... gone.  Would that happen again?

My baby shower was June 1.  I was a little leery to have a shower. Two weeks after Colton's shower, he was gone.  But my dear friends insisted, and we kept it small, and it was beautiful.  A few hours after I got home, though, I started contracting. And throwing up.  Something wasn't right and I knew it. 

D took me to the hospital where they monitored me for a bit. There was no dilation, and no regular contracting pattern.  Delaney's heartbeat, though, was upward of 210, back down to 160, up to 190, back down.... They released me, but I knew something wasn't okay.

I rested all day Sunday. I just felt off and laid down all day.  My OB appointment was Monday morning, so I just laid low all day... 

Monday morning, June 3rd, 8 a.m., D and I went to the doctor for my weekly check up.  Because of Colton's passing we were super vigilant and also doing weekly biophysical profiles.  As soon as we started the ultrasound I knew something was off.  During the BPP ultrasound the tech measures the fluid, measures the heart rate, and measures movement. If the baby fails any area then its on to intervention.

Delaney wasn't moving.  At all. We had just had a big sugary breakfast but she wasn't moving around. I made the tech check her heart beat at least three times, the last time asking her to just let me watch it for a few minutes.  Her heart was beating. I had to focus on that. 

They give the baby 30 minutes to "perform".  If after that time they still haven't met all the requirements they move to further monitoring.  Delaney failed.

Dr. Clare met us in the exam room immediately after and was pretty direct.  He said "baby is coming today".  Whoa. Okay.  We discussed briefly that at 37 weeks she had a 15% chance of needing a short NICU visit.  Okay. I can handle that.  Then shit got real. Like really real.  Dr. Clare said "go straight across the street to the hospital... I'm going to monitor you for no more than an hour.... if I don't like how she looks on the monitor we're taking her by c-section immediately...if she looks okay we'll attempt a vbac with strict monitoring....first sign of an issue and she's out... "

It flowed into my mind like that ... fragmented ... discombobulated. All I heard, in my head, was "Oh my God, I may lose her". 

She did well in the hour monitoring, so we proceeded with induction. Things moved slowly, which was a good thing in the end. 

At about 9 p.m. I was dilated to an 8 and I sat up to help move Delaney down and deliver. As I sat at the end of the bed I began to weep.  I knew her delivery was very near.  And I felt this heaviness.  This fear. This anticipation. This longing.  This sadness.  This worry.

D looked at me and simply said "Colton?".  He held me as I wept more. And he stood me up and ...

I said "push", the only word I could get out in the intensity of the wave of pressure and nausea. It was time.  D said "push what"?! and the nurse and doctor had already sprinted into the room and pieces of the bed were flying, the nurse was stern in saying "Lay her back down NOW" and Dr. Clare, always a pillar of calm, sternly said "It's time now". 

One big push and her head was out and I felt the need to push again.  My eyes were closed and my body was pushing when I heard Dr. Clare very sternly say "Jenn I need you to stop the pushing NOW".  I looked down and Delaney was blue. And silent. 

Half a cord wrap removed.... one full cord wrap removed... second full cord wrap removed....

Another push and she was out. And it was probably seconds but felt like hours when she screamed.  It was singularly the most beautiful, powerful, amazing moment of my life.  She made it.  SHE MADE IT. She was crying. She was alive.

Later Dr. Clare talked to me about what happened. Apparently when I stood up her heart beat shot up then plummeted.  She was suffocating.  He told me that he ran in because one way or another we needed her out immediately. I could have lost her.  I don't know what I would have done, if I would have survived, if I'd had to bury a second baby. 

I cannot help but think her angel, her big brother, was looking over us that weekend. I believe he protected her when the doctors didn't.  We are sure she was wrapped all weekend and that's why I was sick Saturday night and hear heart rate was all over the place.  I fully believe Colton protected her until we could get her out on Monday. 

Her story is so much more complicated and this first year has been a whirlwind.  (You can read through the blog for more details, if needed).  Finding out that D wasn't her father, but indeed B was, really rocked all of our worlds.  There have been lowest of lows and highest of highs.  I'm at a point of complete acceptance and peace.  B and I will probably only ever be co-parents at best.  I would love a friendship for our daughter, but - at least right now - that doesn't seem possible.  D still loves her, and she loves him, and his bravery and his love humbles me and makes me so appreciative of the man he is to both of us. I feel at peace with where life is, and where it's going, and know that all things are beyond our understanding or control.  But they are perfectly orchestrated as only God understands. 

Today is such a joyous, bittersweet, emotional day.  This last year has held a lot of pain for all the adults involved.  A lot of struggle, a lot of broken hearts ... a lot of victory and healing as well.

Most importantly, it's been a beautiful journey with the most wonderful gift I never knew I wanted or needed.

Delaney is truly a blessing and a radiant light in all of our lives.  She is happy and healthy and perfect in every way.  Her spirit is contagious, her smile melts every one's hearts, and her joy brightens every single day.

I look at her and I know everything will be okay.  She brings my soul such joy and I couldn't be more humbled and proud to be her mom.

I miss Colton every single moment of every single day.  I look in Delaney and I see him and it's bittersweet to wonder who he would be, too.  I feel, though, that Heaven shines on her and she's a little gift.  A gift of peace and love and joy and a gift of a piece of her brother in heaven here on earth. 

I remember a year ago like it was an hour ago....

Happy, happy birthday to my sweet Delaney.  My heart feels overflowing with love, pride, and joy to be her mommy!

Flying Free

I haven't taken Delaney out to see Colton before. To keep it real... I have had an irrational fear of the cemetery.  I had this crazy fear if I took her out there, death would steal her from me too. (Have I mentioned  how irrational grief can be??). 

So I'm working on overcoming fears. So yesterday we went to visit Colton. I realized two things.

One, this is a place of love and joy and peace, not fear.

Two, Colton needs new flowers. 

Delaney was so full of joy out there. Laughing and giggling.  I snapped this as she started to squeal as a butterfly had landed on her hand and took off again. 

The butterfly was a bright, pure white. Beautiful, innocent, and comforting. And on the wings of that butterfly flew off my fear...

Happy Easter, Colton. We love and miss you. And promise to visit again soon .. .. ..

Maybe not a rainbow ... but definitely my sunshine.

Clouds stormed on my day.

And my sunshine shown down on me, brightening my day. I thank God for my miracle. I pray he continues to protect her. I pray for guidance and serenity for me. I pray for her father, for clarity and guidance.

And I thank Him. I get it. Maybe rainbow isn't the right term for me....

But sunshine is almost too mild for how much she lights up my life and heals my heart!

The Rainbow After the Storm

My little Delaney. My sweet little Delaney ... I have hesitated so much to vocalize these feelings because of fear of how it would be interpreted. I love my daughter more than words can even begin to explain. I treasure her and appreciate her presence in my life. I am grateful she was given to me.  She is my joy. She's also my sadness...

~~~~~~~~~

There is beauty in the storm, with the rainbow representing the end of the storm and brighter days.

So I have my rainbow baby. And, according to so many, her light shining on me should make my days all better. I read all about having the rainbow baby and heard from my friends how healing she would be.

But no one really talks about the flip side.

No one talks about looking at your rainbow and celebrating the shine but seeing reflected in it the shadow of what was lost. The darkness of the storm. The only reason the rainbow is referred to in such a way is because of the storm. They'd just be another child in the family. But they are the rainbow, the promise, blah blah blah.

My pregnancy was filled with dread. When would I stop feeling her? When would she die?

She failed her bio-physical profile ultrasound. I kept asking "but her heart is beating right?".  She wasn't moving, she wasn't responding to stimulation. Something was wrong. And I just knew she was on her way to meet Colton too.

We induced immediately. When I delivered her she was blue, no cries. The cord was double wrapped around her neck. Very quickly my OB unwrapped the cord and she cried. I think. Maybe? I don't even remember. I do remember feeling guarded. Feeling a wall. A protective barrier. She was perfect, and beautiful, and ... alive.

But Colton was still dead.

See, the rainbow was there but she was shining through the cloud in the room. The thundering, deafening, pouring rain cloud. And this little rainbow, this little shining beacon in that cloud. Everyone else was celebrating, happy, and I was .... detached. Feeling the ache of the storm, the darkness, the memory of what was lost before. Seeing her held up and pink and alive in the doctors hands. And seeing the dark room, the lifeless body, the silence of when he held Colton just the same. Two wrinkles in time, paralleling in that moment. Torturing me and blessing me all at once.

Every milestone is so bittersweet. Would Colton have crawled at the same age? Would he have had a tooth sooner than Delaney's perpetual teething-with-no-results? Would he be so close to walking?

More painfully ... would he have her beautiful golden brown locks? Her piercing blue eyes? Would his laugh sound the same? What about that smile? Would he have a dimple too? Would his eyes dance with excitement and joy? Would he be as curious and adventurous and outspoken? Would he love making music and dancing at the slightest sound of a tune? Would he ......................

I rock Delaney in Colton's rocking chair every night. It's still Colton's rocking chair in my mind and heart. She's borrowing the space. She sleeps in his crib.

And the guilt I feel for this? Immense. Overwhelming. Crushing.

She is worth her own identity. She's worth her own life. She's worth being celebrated and loved without the comparison. Without the longing for knowledge of who her brother would have been.

And yet she's Colton's rainbow. She's a promise. Right? A promise of what though?

The pain isn't gone. It's not lessened..  Sometimes it's even magnified.

And the guilt for feeling this way. A punch into the gut. A feeling of failing another child, just in a different way. Failing to be able to give her untainted love. To give her an individual assessment and appreciation.

I love her so much, so I hate feeling this way. I hate feeling like she's a reminder of all I lost. I want to just love her. Just enjoy her. I don't want to cry when I rock her in the middle of the night, longing to know who Colton would be, longing to have held him and rocked him in his chair.

I want to be her rainbow. I want to heal so that she never feels like a shadow. So she knows she's Delaney. And she's wanted and loved and treasured.

Not as the rainbow baby, but as my baby.