Number 4

Time to get back it. It’s been absolutely ridiculous since I was last on here. I’ve been partially hiding since August. August is when I found out I was pregnant. Pregnant. With my fourth baby. At 40. Less than a year after Ian died. Staying at my mother-in-laws until I got back on my feet, getting back to teaching, getting my life back in order after the most devastating hit I’ve ever taken in my life. Well, life has zero chill. Was I upset I was going to have another baby? Absolutely not. Was I confident I was going to be able to handle being pregnant again after experiencing the past year? Absolutely not. But, I have survived to tell the tale!

So, where are all the books on geriatric pregnancy after your kid dies? Know why there isn’t one? It’s indescribable. It’s utterly terrifying every day. I felt like just keeping still. If I just don’t move, nothing bad can happen. If I just sit quietly, nothing can bother me. Having to process the paradox of the death of a child and the child growing inside was (and still is) absolutely vicious. Add hormones and take away mental health meds and you’ve got a cocktail for insanity. (The medication thing actually worked out though). So, I start working again-at my super intense teaching job, because I somehow think this is going to keep things moving in the “normal” direction. A few trauma laden students and some fucked up situations made me realize that I had no room in my psyche to help these kids when I could barely see straight from having to manage my own shit. I was having severe panic attacks and lost almost 30lbs in the first 1/2 of my pregnancy. The PTSD was taking over. This is why I get confused when people think this stuff isn’t real. This was a job I loved, that I was passionate about. A job that provided enough for me and my family financially (not a lot, but enough). Why would I want to leave it? Just to be lazy? I didn’t, but if I didn’t, I was going to hurt myself and my baby. And, I was already high-risk (being geriatric and all… and having 2 premature labors)So, I took a job with practically zero stress (for me… what stresses people out is all subjective) snuggling little babies all day at a daycare. (Trust me, when you work in the infant room you are working NONSTOP, I just happen to enjoy it). I stopped having panic attacks and started gaining weight. But, this came with a financial burden. But, I had to choose health over money and that is just a sucky situation. An already strained financial situation was strained by trying to move out of my in-laws in a ridiculous housing market. We were extremely lucky to get into a townhouse a WEEK before the baby was born.

So yeah, a stressful pregnancy. And I don’t know if it was the stress, or just my body and my babies working the way they do, but she came 6 weeks early. The universe was working in our favor and she was perfectly healthy, but still had a few week NICU stay until she was able to eat on her own. A baby in the hospital. Not cool. I handled it. I 100% thought I would freak out. But that’s not how I roll. It usually takes me about 3 months after a major stressful life event to breakdown (there’s actually a real psychological reason for this timeframe-and it’s happened to me 3x). I haven’t crossed that threshold yet, but so far the postpartum experience has been ok.

Here’s where I can’t process all of this. If Ian didn’t die, I wouldn’t have Cecilia. But, I would give anything for Ian to be alive. I would change everything to prevent Ian from getting in that pool. But, would I? Two of my children came after Ian got hurt. I wasn’t going to have any more after Ian, but him getting hurt changed everything. Him dying changed everything. If I change anything, John and Cecilia wouldn’t be born. Should I be grateful he died so I can have them? Would I be ok without the babies if I could have Ian back?

This is why we just have to live life the way it is. There’s so many times we’ve all said, “if I just did this differently”… well, you can’t. You literally can’t change anything. I have two beautiful children at the cost of losing one.

I’ll end this with a post I made in a grieving mothers Facebook group: I just had the most surreal, painful, and beautiful experience. It’s my sons 7th birthday in a few days (his 2nd not with us) and the anticipation of these milestones is usually worse than the day itself. Anyway, today was the day I was about to crack… I’m sure most of you understand the feeling of “today’s the day I’m getting committed “ I was nursing my 6 week old (add postpartum hormones to the mix) and I just start bawling, (the heaving sobbing kind) and my 2 year old climbs on my lap too and literally started wiping my tears and patting me “no cry, it’s ok” and giving me hugs. In that moment I realized I was experiencing true motherhood. Grieving my son, nourishing my newborn, being comforted and loved by my toddler. (I was just missing my fierce, compassionate 11 year old daughter) it was intense all around. Us mothers really do make the world go around 💕 here are all my babies at a few weeks old top-Emmersyn (11), Cecilia (6 weeks) bottom-John (2) and Ian (forever 5 💚)