The Pink and Girly Place in My Heart

 "I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us." (Romans 8:18)

The Pink and girly place in my heart. It is a restful, peaceful, happy, and sometimes a sad place in my heart these days. It is a complicated place for me. I suppose in some respects it will always be complicated. Your children aren't supposed to go to heaven before you. I don't recount the story of the little girl who touched my heart so deeply very often, but I wanted to share her story. Maybe in hopes of helping someone else. I used to recount it all the time. People would ask or I would meet someone who had or was walking in similar shoes as me. I used to tell the story with a shaky voice. I tried to be strong, but I couldn't hide my pain. Now her story has been written on my heart and it has found a home. I am at peace, but sometimes I still find myself deeply sad. As I think of her now, I smile. She was precious. She was beautiful. She was my baby girl....but she was....not is.

Her story started in early January 2009. I remember coming home from a day of teaching on January 28th and taking a pregnancy test. I remember seeing those two pink lines. I remember feeling shocked, excited, blessed, nervous, and scared. I was shocked because I thought it would take much longer for us to get pregnant. I was excited because what I wanted more than anything was to be a wife and mother. It took five pregnancy tests and the doctor confirming on February 9th, before I was convinced. The next hour was the longest hour...waiting for Patrick (Pat) to get home from work. I put the test in a small blue gift box. It was all I could find. I wanted it to look like a gift. I had him sit on the couch and open the box. He thought it was odd, but he went along with it. I won't ever forget the look on his face. It was a look of calm. We kept it to ourselves until we told our family the week of Valentine's Day. We told our parent's over lunch the day after Valentine's Day. I remember feeling bloated and very sick. I had all the symptoms...down to the metal taste in my mouth. You know what they say. It is a very good sign if you feel sick. I was certainly sick. This little baby must be healthy! I remember being fearful of a miscarriage, because my Mom suffered so many and miscarriages ran in my family.

The second trimester came and all was going well! We felt so incredibly blessed and we thanked God for her! I still remember feeling those first flutters at four months and how new and amazing that feeling was. It was all so new and exciting! That is when I really started to enjoy the anticipating. I only had one ultrasound with her and that was my 20 week ultrasound. It was on May 18th. Near Patrick's birthday, our 3rd anniversary, and Mother's Day. I hold the memory of that day very close. It was the only time I saw her move or saw her heart beat. She kept turning her face towards the ultrasound probe. We saw her face several times. She waved at us. She liked to keep her hands near her face. She was healthy! She was a girl...pink! Pat would be a protective Daddy. She would be a daddy's girl. I would be responsible for teaching her what it means to be a woman...a lady. Really God? You would give me this responsibility? I thought she was a boy. I asked the ultrasound technician if she was certain. Pink...Really?...Pink? As weeks went by I began seeing in pink. I picked out her pale pink "coming home" dress with a pale pink sweater and she was going to wear the white crocheted booties I wore as a newborn baby. I shopped for sweet baby girl clothes and I couldn't help but think if my Mom were alive, she would help me shop and prepare for her. I wanted my own mother. I felt very lonely without my Mom, but I felt so incredibly close to this baby girl inside me. I began to bond with her. I began to fall in love with her. She was a blessing...a gift. Her room was painted a very pale green and was accented with pale pink. The valances on the windows were fun. They had a pale pink background with white, pale green, and darker pink polka dots. The valances matched her crib skirt. I had so much fun picking out the fabric. Her grandparents helped us paint and decorate her room. Patrick put all the furniture and equipment together. I loved her room. I would go in her room during the day and read, sing, and pray with her in the rocking chair. I loved the growing belly...the kicks...the check-ups when I got to hear her heart beating.

I remember her beautiful girly baby shower given by sweet, gracious friends and the fun I had with family and friends that day. I remember the very hot summer before she was born and I remember the tank top and shorts I wore the day I felt her last kick. It was September 6th when Patrick took maternity pictures of me... it was September 9th the last time I heard her heart beat...it was September 10th when I felt that last strong kick...and it was September 11th when I saw her beautiful face.

She was always very busy at night, but she was especially busy the night of the 9th. She had the hiccups and they always made her mad. She kicked, rolled, and punched so much that I couldn't sleep. In retrospect I wonder if she was in distress. Was she hurting? I hope she never hurt. The next day she was calm and I was busy preparing her room and washing her clothes and blankets. I was a little over 36 weeks into the pregnancy and I was in full nesting mode. I was cleaning and organizing. I had just seen my doctor the day before. All was going perfectly! I was 1cm dilated and thinning out. My body was getting ready. I was preparing for the arrival of our healthy baby girl! The last movement I ever felt from her was around 11:30 the morning of the 10th. I still remember what it felt like. After an afternoon of no movement from her I began to worry and ate chocolate in hopes the caffeine would wake her. I wasn't ignorant about stillbirth. I knew it could happen and I began to fear it. Patrick came home from work a little early, because we had a tour of a pediatrician's office that afternoon. I told him I hadn't felt her move in awhile. He was concerned, but we went ahead and went to our tour, in hopes that our baby girl would wake up. He played music on his phone for her while we waited in the waiting room for the tour. She wouldn't move. She always moved to music. My baby wasn't alive, but all these other women on this tour had live kicking babies in their bellies. We went home and I ate more chocolate, drank juice, played more music for her, poked her, and Patrick even held me upside down. We had never wanted anything more in our lives. We just wanted her to move. But there was nothing...no movement...stillness. Patrick urged me to call the doctor. I was scared...very scared. At this point it was early evening and we had no choice, but to go to the hospital. We very quickly packed the bag. Packing the bag was something on my "to do list" that day. I never got to it. Patrick thought we would go and come back, but I remember saying, "we should pack a bag. We don't know what is going to happen." I was hoping she was just taking a long sleep. What I didn't want was an emergency c-section and what I was fearing the most was what happened. In a haste to get packed and out the door I forgot her pale pink "coming home" dress with sweet little white booties. I still regret forgetting her beautiful dress. As Patrick raced down 400 we were mostly silent, but we prayed. We prayed for our baby girl to be okay. It wasn't the race to the hospital we had hoped for those nine months.

When we arrived we were calmly taken back to a very small room with a bed. I was told to put a hospital gown on. I remember thinking, is this necessary? Can't I just hear my baby's heartbeat like I do when I go for my check-ups? I remember thinking, this isn't the way I want it to be. I don't want to be in a panic while putting the hospital gown on before she is born. Isn't this supposed to be exciting? It took me forever to figure out how to put that silly thing on. Patrick was moving our car to the parking deck. Maybe I took so long because I wanted him there with me when she put the doppler on my still belly. I finally got in the bed and Patrick was there. We were scared...very scared. She put the doppler on my belly and rolled it everywhere. She said, "I hear a heartbeat, but I think it is yours". My heart was beating incredibly fast. Fast enough to be a baby's heartbeat. She then said, "let me get another doppler", and I could see the fear in her eyes. She told Patrick to hold my hand and my heart started beating even faster. The next doppler was just the same. It wasn't a malfunction in technology. It was a malfunction with me or my baby girl. The imperfection of this world...of humanity...was showing itself. But my heart desired perfection.

Then she told us not to worry, she wanted to ask my doctor to perform an ultrasound. My doctor happened to be on-call that night, but she wasn't the one to perform the ultrasound. We waited for her, but the nurse didn't want to wait any longer. So, a doctor we didn't know, and not even with my ob group performed the ultrasound. We rushed through the pleasantries and she quickly put the probe on my belly. Our baby girl's face wasn't against the probe anymore. She wasn't looking at us. She wasn't moving. Her heart wasn't beating. She was still. She was calm. Her body was dead. The long painful silence...my heart racing...Patrick's hand painfully squeezing mine in an effort to hold back tears. It was the longest minute waiting for the doctor to turn around and look us in the eyes and say those two words, "I'm sorry"...the words we would hear for several months. The shock of hearing your child is dead is like no other. It is like a knife in your heart and as her mother, I felt responsible. What did I do wrong? The nurse was very sensitive and the doctor was pretty neutral. I didn't know the doctor. I felt like I knew the nurse. We had been together since I first walked into that small room. They left us alone and Patrick and I cried together...like we never had before. A dream was taken away in an instant. Our baby girl was gone. We called our parents and told them. The hardest phone calls we ever had to make. My Dad had just had surgery on a detached retina and I remember being concerned if and how he was going to be able to drive to Atlanta. Patrick's parents graciously drove themselves and my Dad in their car...a car that had seen much better days. Ironically that car died in Athens the day of our baby girl's memorial service. Time stood still that night, but to our relief and comfort our parents arrived safely at the hospital sometime in the night. My doctor eventually came to us in that tiny room. She was pregnant...her baby girl was due just one month behind our baby girl. She sat there on the bed and cried with us and she discussed our options. We could go home and come back when we were ready or go ahead and deliver her. I couldn't imagine going home and knowing she wasn't living. The doctor recommended we proceed with the delivery and we took her advice.

The induction began that night. We were moved to a room that was supposed to be far away from crying babies. They placed a dove on our door, so nurses would know I would be delivering a baby who no longer had a beating heart. I remember filling out paperwork and just not having the mental capacity to do it. But I remember feeling a push to work. I had to fill out this paperwork, I had to deliver my baby and it didn't matter if her heart was beating or not. I didn't have time to think about what was happening. I just had to do it. The next day I felt like I was in a tunnel, but I felt an amazing peace. The night before she was born was sleepless. Even with the help of medication. I wanted to see my baby girl and my focus was on embracing the moment of meeting her and holding her for the first time. I couldn't think about anything else yet. I couldn't handle it. They gave me an epidural at 5cm. At this point the contractions were getting painful. Patrick was very strong and supportive. We did the breathing techniques we had learned in our birthing class just a couple of weeks prior. The nurses and doctor didn't want me to be in physical pain. They knew I was already in a lot of emotional pain. The epidural didn't work. So, they kept coming back and finally got it working. At that point I was very numb. I couldn't feel anything, but I could hear the heartbeat of a baby on a monitor next door and I later heard that baby cry. I tried to ignore it. In just a couple of hours the doctor came in. Not my doctor, but one from my group I had never met. She checked me and her head was right there. She was surprised that it was happening so quickly. The nurse who was there with us the night before, made a special effort to be with us for the birth. I can still hear someone saying as I was pushing ( I don't know who), "Are you ready to meet her?" She said it in an excited voice and I thought, yes, but I won't fully meet her, will I?  

I was in a tunnel. Focused on one thing and only one thing. Her body was here after three contractions. I was numb...physically numb and in some ways emotionally numb, but I felt her release from my body at 4:07 p.m.. I will never forget that moment in the quiet room with the dove on the door. The moment they put her on my belly and the only thing the doctor said, was she looked like an angel. She was perfect. I tried to prepare myself for bruises or an umbilical cord around her neck. She looked like a newborn baby...just still...just calm...beautiful...peaceful...precious. She had chubby cheeks, chubby hands, short legs with chubby thighs, a long torso, long feet, blonde eyebrows, brown hair with blonde highlights and a touch of curl. She had my nose and her Daddy's eyes. Patrick said, "She was just too beautiful for this world". Such a beautiful thing for a Daddy to say about his daughter. When I saw her I thought of my Mom. There was something about her that reminded me of her. All I could picture was her holding her. She loved babies...she loved children and now she gets to enjoy her granddaughter in heaven. She and my father dreamed of having a house full of children and eventually grandchildren. We named her Felicity, after her grandmother, Felicia. Felicity means, "happy" and I know Felicity is happy in eternity. She never knew the pain and sadness this imperfect world can bring. Her middle name was Amanda...after my father's mother, who died from colon cancer when he was 13. She was also named after me. My middle name is Amanda. Amanda means, "worthy of love". Felicity Amanda will always be loved. She will always be that pink and girly place in my heart. There was a reason why we could never decide on a name for her before she was born and now we understand. Felicity and Amanda were some of our choices, but we had decided we wanted to see her face before we named her.

Her body was still warm from mine, but it was limp. The nurse bathed her and dressed her in a Winnie the Pooh sleep n' play the hospital donated. I remember looking at Winnie the Pooh and thinking back to the day we found out she was a girl. We bought her a little pale pink Winnie The Pooh security blanket after the ultrasound appointment. It was at home in her crib waiting for her, but she would never cuddle it to her face. We had the afternoon and evening with her. Those hours we held her were precious. A volunteer at the hospital took pictures of her. They dressed her in a handmade pale pink dress that someone sweetly made and donated to the hospital. We kissed her...we stared at her in hopes of never forgetting her beautiful face. We had the chaplain pray and she read Psalm 23, while I held her calm and peaceful body in my arms. I couldn't see it then but, "my cup did runneth over". I still remember painfully wiping the blood from her lips and nose. There were so many tissues for our tears and tissues for her nose and blood stained lips. Patrick was calm...just like the day I showed him those two pink lines, but this time his eyes showed a pain and despair I had never seen before.

It was heartbreaking when Patrick told me it was time to let her go...that we wanted to remember her body warm and not cold. I called the nurse to come get her and I had to let her go. The nurse who was there just the night before, searching and searching for her heartbeat. I had let the hopes of meeting her spirit go, but now I was letting her body go. The focus I had been strong for all day was done and I cried. I cried hard in my loving husband's arms and with such heartache and pain. My breasts tingled from my milk coming in and all I wanted to do was nurse my baby girl. To hold her in my arms and tell her I would take care of her. I wanted to take her home to the room we had prepared for her and rock her in the rocking chair. I wanted to watch my baby girl grow into a little girl and a lady. I wanted HER in my arms instead of pillows and a box of things to remember her by when I left the hospital. I wanted her to wear that pale pink dress I bought for her and my little white booties. I didn't want to have to decide what to do with her body. I didn't want to plan a memorial service for her. I didn't want to have to physically recover from a pregnancy and birth without a baby to hold and care for. I didn't want to have to stop producing milk. I wanted to give her nourishment and love. I remember looking into her face and asking God, why? She looks so perfect and healthy. She is 6lbs. 15 oz and 20 inches long with ten fingers and ten toes. If she had been born just a day earlier she would have been okay...right? I asked God if he allowed her to be taken from me, because he didn't think I was a strong enough woman in Him to be a mother to a little girl...especially without my own mother. I asked Him why He would put the desire to be a mother in my heart, give me the privilege, and then allow my baby to be taken away.

Those questions no longer enter my mind, but they did. The searching for the biological and spiritual answers to why my seemingly healthy baby was suddenly taken away. The frustration when after the autopsy and blood tests were done, we were still left with no answers. When I finished planning her memorial service and celebrated her life with ceremony and loved ones, when Patrick returned to work, when the gracious friends and family left and no longer took me out for lunches, sent cards, emails, texts, calls, came for visits or brought meals...I was there with the raw pain of grief...just me and God. I was left to do the work of grief. Not the responsibility I had planned for those nine months, but I had been called to do it. I had to do it to see the blessings. I cried until I had no more tears...I screamed in pillows... I read other people's stories and how they made it through...I slept to get away from my thoughts... I would write when I couldn't sleep...I wrote in the pale pink and pale green baby book I bought for her...I physically ran to deal with the anger and the baby fat that had to pass as fat to strangers, because there was no baby...I felt like a failure...I remembered the prayers, words and arms of comfort and encouragement from friends and family......I read God's word...I prayed...I prayed on my knees with my face to the ground or my pillow. What I did eventually find was peace. Peace in knowing that she is okay...she is safe..she is in the arms of Jesus...she knows paradise...she knows what it feels like to dance to the beautiful music of heaven...She truly understands the depth of the greatest love...the love of God. I have peace in knowing God does love me in my suffering. I don't have all the answers and I don't expect to get them anymore. Not while I am on this earth. Before I could get to that place I had to deny...I had to be angry...I had to question...I had to search....I had to cry...I had to be completely broken in the arms of Jesus. I had to sort through all the negative. I had to completely surrender to Him and I had to surrender the baby girl I was given for a short time to Him. He was the only one who could get me through the grief. I still cry, I still hurt, but I have accepted that she is in eternity and one day I will see her open her eyes...I will see her smile...I will hear her laugh...I will see her dance...I will see her walk to me, take my hand and introduce me to Jesus. One day I will see Felicity Amanda happy and full of the greatest love...the love of Jesus. For she is so very worthy of love.

Until then, her 9 months of life in me have changed me forever. You are never the same person you once were, when you lose a child. The road of grief doesn't end, but the pain isn't as raw as it once was. There will never be a Christmas I don't think about how old she would be or remember the anniversary of her death and birth, or her due date (my birthday). There will always be things that remind me of her and now they often make me smile. When Sean and I listen to the music she listened to in my womb and always kicked to. When I hear "Sleepers Wake" or "Jesu Joy of Man's Desiring" by:  Bach, "Claire de Lune" by:  Debussy or sing "Jesus Loves Me" or "Brahms Lullaby" to Sean, I think of her. I think of her memorial service and how this music filled the Botanical Garden Chapel as the sun finally came out after days of storms, since the birth of her still body. The sun was comforting shining through the beautiful chapel windows...as if God was saying, "she is in my loving arms and beauty will come of your suffering". When I look at Patrick and when I look at Sean I think of her, because she favored them. When my body would wake to feed her in the middle of the night I would stare at Patrick when he slept. Just so I could see his eyes as I saw hers. I am more in love with my husband now and our marriage is stronger, because we clung to each other in the grief. Life seems shorter and eternity is even sweeter knowing she is there. Heaven and the hope it holds became so much more of a reality for me and my responsibility on this earth is becoming so much more evident. I began to see God's blessings in my surrender to Him in the pain and just how weak and broken I am. It was in my weakness that I was fully open to the love he has for me and the work he wants to do in me. I began to see the simplest things in life as the most beautiful and precious. In the surrender I heard God tell me to trust Him with my family and have faith in Him and His plan. In the surrender God gave me the strength to carry on with my life.

She isn't here with us, but she is in our hearts always. She is that pink and girly place in my heart and even if we were blessed with another baby girl someday she will never be Felicity Amanda. She will be different. Just as Sean may have filled my desire for a baby in my arms and a child to teach and love, he will never replace her. Felicity will always be my first child. She is unique and special...just as every person is. When anyone asks me if Sean is my first child I always say... no...he is my second child. I have a baby girl in heaven. I am honored I was chosen to be Felicity's mother for those nine months. I loved caring for her in my womb and preparing for and anticipating her arrival. Those are such beautiful memories. Her little life has changed me forever and touched my heart in a way I never knew a child could. Her brief life showed me the deep love a mother has for her children. She was the child who first made me a mother and in some ways I think losing her has made me a better mother than I would have been. She helped me begin to understand the depth of love my heavenly father has for me, as one of his children. Sometimes the shortest lives leave the biggest marks on our hearts...

I share Felicity Amanda's story in honor of her beautiful life and the mark she has so beautifully left on our hearts forever...

God's Gracious Gift

When I say the name Sean Isaac I am filled with a very deep love. He is an incredible blessing in our lives. He is the light in the middle of a storm of grief for lost loved ones and financial hardship. He is our gracious gift from God. His name was chosen before his sister Felicity Amanda was born in 2009. In fact his name was the name we were going to use if our first child was a boy. We were always certain what our boy name would be. We couldn't settle on a girl's name until we met her. In May 2009 we were pleasantly surprised we were having a girl. I thought we were having a boy.

In March 2010 we found out we were most likely having a boy and it was officially confirmed in April 2010. We decided we wanted to go ahead and name him. We remembered the boy name we chose in 2009. For the meaning was so very fitting. God told me that this little boy growing inside me would live on this earth and to name him Sean Isaac. He would be our Gracious gift from God and yes he would build our faith in Him. Sean is Irish for John meaning "God's Gracious Gift" and Isaac is Hebrew for "laughter". He is our gracious gift of laughter in the middle of tears of sadness. The night I read the story of Isaac and the story of John the Baptist, I had the peace of knowing Sean was going to live. These two stories of faithfulness and how He uses the lives of His people brought me hope. Abraham was willing to sacrifice his son for God. I had completely and painfully surrendered my precious little girl to God in September 2009 and I was reminded that I had to do the same with Sean. For Sean isn't my child. He is the Lord's. So I decided I will do anything you ask me, Lord. No matter how long his life is...I want your will and only your will for Sean's life. Your will is perfect. I have faith in your plan. Do what you will with my life and the life of this little boy growing inside me. He is yours and everyday you give me with him is a gracious gift...a gift from you.

Sean Isaac - 16 Weeks Gestation

When my faith was tested and fear crept in, these are some of the scriptures where I found rest and hope.

"Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see. This is what the ancients were commended for." (Hebrews 11:1-2)

"By faith Abraham, even though he was past age - and Sarah herself was barren - was enabled to become a father because he considered him faithful who had made the promise. And so from this one man, and he as good as dead, came descendants as numerous as the stars in the sky and as countless as the sand on the seashore." (Hebrews 11: 11-12).

"By faith Abraham, when God tested him, offered Isaac as a sacrifice. He who had received the promises was about to sacrifice his one and only son, even though God had said to him, "It is through Isaac that your offspring will be reckoned. Abraham reasoned that God could raise the dead, and figuratively speaking, he did receive Isaac back from death." (Hebrews 11: 17-19)

"Do not be afraid, Zechariah; your prayer has been heard. Your wife Elizabeth will bear you a son, and you are to give him the name John. He will be a joy and delight to you, and many will rejoice because of his birth, for he will be great in the sight of the Lord." (Luke 1: 13-15)

Dirty Knees at the Park!

Two years after Sean Isaac's life first began in January 2010 we are truly enjoying watching him grow. He does something new everyday. Here is what's going on in Sean's beautiful life these days! We are so thankful to say he is 17 months old! He amazes us everyday! No moment...no day with him is taken for granted.

• He is developing a sense of humor! He thinks pictures of dogs and cats are funny (especially pictures of his Holly Kitty). He laughs every time he sees Holly. He laughs when we copy his silly words...like sas, sadise, dadise, das, adise, and shish (just to name a few). He laughs when we play hide and seek and we see him. He laughs when we chase him. He laughs at silly songs. He often has the kind of laugh that makes him have to catch his breath. I LOVE to hear him laugh!
• He weighs 22lbs. 15 oz. and is 2 ft. 9 in. tall. He is our lanky little guy!
• He has 14 teeth and two more cuspids that will probably break through soon.
• He can take his socks, hat and mittens off on his own. He can put the hood of his jacket back on his head. He puts his arms in the sleeves of his coat and helps take off his coat.
• He is drinking from a cup, but still dribbles some.           
  

  

  Drinking From a Cup

• He is starting to use a spoon some to feed himself. 
• He enjoys drinking from a straw.
• He likes to share his food with Mommy and Daddy. He likes to feed us and say, "mmm"
• He likes to smell things. He likes to smell our morning coffee and he found some packs of gum in the pantry that he enjoyed sniffing.
• He knows how to blow.
• He wipes his mouth and tray after he eats.
• He brushes his teeth on his own, but hasn't learned how to spit out yet.
• He likes to help bathe himself.
• He likes to help comb and brush his hair.
• He helps wash his hands.
• He walks forwards and backwards, squats, climbs up and down stairs and chairs, and is beginning to run. He also dances and loves music. He will dance to music, the sound of the washing machine, dryer, and coffee grinder. He also dances to the fire in the fireplace. Apparently the fire looks like it is dancing.
• He can roll, kick, and throw a ball overhand. He also likes to throw the ball over his head.
• He walks up the stairs holding our hands.
• He is trying to open doors using the doorknob. He has just mastered closing doors using the doorknob.
• He enjoys hiding his toys and searching for them. It is a fun game. He talks while he looks for his missing toys.



Looking at the Moon

• He is fascinated with the moon and looks for it every night. He identifies the moon in books as both crescent and circle shaped.    
• He is very interested in shapes. Circles being his favorite. He can identify a circle, triangle, square, rectangle, crescent and heart when we ask him to point to them.
• He can stack a tower of three blocks and enjoys stacking rings as well. Knocking down the tower is always more fun!
• He can identify the letter S and say the sound it makes.
• He understands so much of what we say! He loves the word "go" and will go to the gate to go downstairs to the garage whenever I say it. He loves to "go" somewhere and enjoys playing outside.
• He understands two step directions (i.e. "Go get your ball and put it in the basket")
• He signs please, thank you, yes, more, eat, drink, and all done. He can combine them (i.e. "more eat please"). He is a good communicator and knows what he wants and doesn't want.
• The words he uses regularly are:  mama, dada, daddy, done, moon, moo, arff (barking), bath, yay, blue, hi, and hey.
• He can identify his head, hair, eyes, nose, cheeks, mouth, lips, teeth, tongue, ears, chest, tummy, back, hiney, legs, feet, arms, hands, fingers, and toes. He points to them when we ask him where they are. 
• He enjoys helping Mommy water the house plants.
• He helps Mommy feed Holly Kitty every morning. He helps me scoop the food out and pour it in the dish.
• He enjoys scooping and pouring. 
• He enjoys nesting cups, bowls, and boxes.
• He enjoys putting things in and out of containers.
• He likes puzzles. 
• He has really taken to push and pull toys. He leaves his mark all over the house.
  

  

  Concentrating

• He loves making music...especially beating his drum.
• He loves books. We read several a day. Many of which he has brought to me to read signing "please" and saying "Mama".
• He can match like objects (i.e. a balloon in a book he is reading and then points to his balloon). He matches pictures in his word books too.
• He can identify Mama, Daddy, Mimi, Grandad, Holly and himself in a picture.
• He knows where each one of his toys belong when it is time to clean up.
• He calls "Daddy" and "Mama" when he needs help. It is so precious how he says "Mama" when he needs me. Often signing "please" and pointing or taking me to what he wants or needs.
• He draws lines and loops when coloring with crayons.
• He prefers painting with a paintbrush over painting with his fingers.   
  

  

  Ready To Paint!

• He gets very focused on a task and doesn't like to be disturbed. We have seen his temper in times like these and when he is tired.
• He plays well by himself and has started sharing his toys with others. He is learning how to take turns.
• He is quiet and reserved by nature. It takes a few minutes for him to warm up to people. However, we haven't seen signs of separation anxiety in awhile. He is observant and thoughtful of people and his surroundings. It isn't important to him to be the center of attention.
  
• He has a contagious smile and a desire for exploration and adventure. 
• He is affectionate and will come up to us and give us a hug and a kiss with or without us asking for one :)

He is Such a Happy Boy!

"If You're Happy and You Know It"

I just recently taught this song to Sean. He can do all the motions, but he often walks or runs away in the midst. After all, he is a young toddler! As I taught him this song, I found that it bothered me. There is always this pressure to be happy. I went back to my adolescence for a moment. Those years after my Mom died. I didn't smile much. I wasn't happy. As I walked the halls of junior high school I would often see a teacher or a member of administration tell me to smile. I didn't want to smile. I was miserable. I witnessed my mother battle addiction and sickness for years and then she died. I was 13...an awkward age to begin with. They wanted me to smile and make my face surely show it? Really? Do you know what I have seen? Do you know what I replay in my mind? My Mom going delirious from overdosing on pain pills for chronic back pain...and holding me so tight as I said goodbye before the paramedics took her away. Do you know that it hurts me to know that my Mom was put in a padded room - so she wouldn't hurt herself or anyone else? Do you know my heart hurts for my Mommy...my security? How can I smile?

So I search for the happy. Isn't that what parents often say? I just want my children to be happy. I realized that we are not always going to be happy. We aren't always going to have a smile on our face. We are going to be angry, we are going to be sad, and yes we are going to be happy. Those are all emotions. Emotions God made and Jesus clearly felt. Happy is no longer my goal, but contentment with where my life is right now is my goal. Contentment is a choice. Contentment doesn't mean that a circumstance won't make me sad, angry, or happy. Contentment means taking what life hands me and truly knowing God is holding me in his arms. He is loving me despite my brokenness and He rejoices when I am happy...when I see the beauty He has created on this earth. He rejoices when I have a heart of Thanksgiving and I see His blessings in this messy world. He hurts for me when I hurt. Contentment is resting in His love, in truly understanding I don't have to take the burdens of this world on. He is going to take care of it. He is going to take care of me. He is there to fill the holes that I try to fill with the expectations I have of imperfect people and material possessions. Contentment comes from the full surrender of my life to Christ. To surrender is to trust. It must hurt Him for me not to trust Him in his unfailing love for me. To give all of me and my circumstances over to Him and then take it back and "try" to control it myself. Yet I keep doing it...it is human nature. It is my pride...my selfishness. But my true contentment comes in knowing I am weak and I am broken and very wounded apart from Christ.

Ever since Sean was born part of my my morning prayer for him is “Lord, help him grow strong, healthy, content, and wise in you.” Not necessarily be happy all the time, but when times get tough, for him to be content in the love Christ has for him. For his strength, endurance, and comfort to only come from Him. I think back to when I gave birth to a silent, still baby in September 2009. It broke my heart to hold Felicity's limp body. To feel her grow cold and hard as day became night. But we found peace in knowing she would never cry...which meant she would never know the pain of this world. Even though all I wanted to hear as she left my body was that first cry. I began to understand the harsh reality that life hurts from the very beginning. Our purpose here isn't to always be happy, but to experience a journey with Christ. A journey with pain, suffering and happiness. A journey where we don't get what we always want or think we want, but allow ourselves to be used for Him. To be putty in his hands...to be an example of His love for others...to share him and know this isn't our home. That one day we will be in Eternity...the heaven God designed for us. We are to do work for Him on this earth and it isn't always going to be easy, but I will choose to be content in God's plan for my life...that he loves me enough to use me to bring more people to his Kingdom. So as I had the amazing privilege of hearing Sean's first cry, a part of me ached for him. I wanted to hold him and tell him he would always be happy, but I knew his work on this earth was just beginning and the best gift that his Daddy and I could ever give him was the gift of him knowing he can find true CONTENTMENT in Jesus. That first night together, as I held Sean in my arms I sang "Jesus Loves Me". The song my parents taught me to sing as a little girl...the song I sang to my little girl and to my little boy when I held them in my womb.

"But those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not grow faint." (Isaiah 40:31)

God Gave Us You

So here it goes...I am writing. I decided to try this blogging thing. Writing has been very healing for me in the past, but I have kept my writing private. I decided to share some of my thoughts and happenings in my life with others. I am not sure if I will keep it up, but I will do it as long as I feel God is leading me to share.

Everyone has a story...so here is the beginning of mine. This Christmas I gave our precious little boy, Sean Isaac a book entitled, God Gave Us You, by Lisa Tawn Bergen. Just recently he started taking a very special interest in reading it. He loves books and always has. We have been reading together since before he was born. I had moved this book from his bookshelf in his room to his book basket in the living room. We spend the majority of our time in the living room. There are other books in the basket, but he kept looking at this one and bringing it to me to read, often many times throughout the day. It is a book about a bear family who anticipates the arrival of their little bear cub, repeating on each page that “God Gave Us You”. Near the end of the book Mama bear talks to her little bear cub about how before she was born they would go to the doctor and hear her heart beat. I took this as a “teachable moment” to tell Sean where his heart is and he quickly caught on that his heart was in his chest. When I ask him where his heart is, he puts his hand on his chest. A few days later I told him the sound his heart makes (at least tried). No surprise that he loved the beating sound Mommy was making. I couldn't help but shed a few tears while reading. Any parent knows the miracle of their baby's heartbeat - especially the first time they ever hear that beautiful sound. I proceeded to tell Sean how we listened to his heartbeat many times when he was in my belly and how we were always grateful and excited to hear that beautiful sound. So he patted his belly and then my belly.

I am reminded daily of the preciousness of life when I look at my growing and vibrant little boy and when my heart aches for those I still love and have gone before me. Life is a series of losses. I suppose it is all in how you look at it. You lose, but yet you always gain something from a loss. The human heart is precious from the first beat to the last. I am not sure you can truly grasp the miracle until you have seen someone who no longer has a beating heart or seen/heard that young heartbeat from the beginning of life.

The beginning of my life was a surprise. My mother went in for an ultrasound before a scheduled hysterectomy. Needless to say, the hysterectomy was canceled because there was life inside her...a beating heart...me. My parents were excited and scared. They had lost other children before me, through 1^st trimester miscarriages. My mother suffered many “female” and emotional problems that she battled throughout her life. Some of those problems were because of a violent rape she endured as a teenager. My mother wanted to be a mother more than anything, but one “female problem” preventing that from happening was polycystic ovarian syndrome. To put something rather technical and complicated more simply, her body would miscarry the babies, because she did not produce enough progesterone. I was born on the 11^th trip to the hospital after my mother received periodic doses of natural progesterone injections. This procedure was in the experimental stages. I was born a healthy little girl on October 5, 1981 to two very proud and loving parents. 

I have always been told I am loved and very special.  When you are told something like that it makes you feel special and very loved, but it also made me feel I had to do something special. Like God had destined me for something BIG. Sometimes it is hard to do something BIG when you lack the confidence. Insecurity and guilt are my life and I imagine much of that stems from the roller coaster of losses and gains throughout my 30 years on this earth. I don't mean to sound negative, but it is something I battle daily. I battle the memories...the painful memories that are always there. The memories I so wish I could erase. The memories that rocked the security I craved in my childhood. I often hate that I “feel” so much. I wish it didn't hurt, but it does. I have been told by numerous people that I am too sensitive, thin skinned, and often too serious. So, I often put up a wall to hide the pain and I don't cry much with others. I admire those who can truly “grin and bear it” and “just sweep it under the rug”. I admire those who can cry and let it out in front of anyone and be loved and accepted anyway or who really aren't bothered by what anyone else thinks. They are stronger than me. I cry and scream in private and do my best to “grin and bear it” on the outside. The more I lose the harder it becomes to trust....to trust my heart with others...to trust in God's plan for my life. I don't give up, because God has carried me this far in this broken world and I know he will never give up on me.  I am thankful my parents never failed to tell me, "God Gave us You".

I spend my days trying to provide my 16 month old little boy with security by being home with him, trying to be consistent and stable, being a wife to his daddy, and trying to do all that being a mommy entails. All the while trying to rely solely on the Lord's guidance, since my own mother isn't here to call. With the daily help of God I am trying to provide him with something I didn't always have, but trying to give him what I did have that was nurturing to my growth. It is the hardest and sometimes the loneliest job I have ever had, but this is what I believe God has called me to do at this time in my life. I wouldn't trade these precious days for anything. The opportunity to watch the miracle of his life unfold. Sometimes I still listen to his heart beating and remember how precious his life is...how his heart was beating when I was in labor (unlike his sister's) and how it still beats so strongly with every amazing breath God gives him. How his life is truly unique. Different from his sister's short life. How God is writing his story and what a privilege it is to be a part of it. Each day I come a little closer to understanding how much I love Sean and through that, just how much my God must love me...must love each one of us. In that, I discover the gain. Those empty holes in my heart are slowly being mended with the unconditional love of God. 


"Every night, I prayed for you, my special child. I prayed your bones would be straight and your heart would be strong. But most of all, I prayed that someday you would love God." "I love God," Little Cub said proudly. "I know," said Mama. "I do too." God Gave Us You, by: Lisa Tawn Bergen

 Our prayer for both of our precious children was and still is that they love God. We never knew our little girl would know God more than any of us.