Back to School

School is back in session. That means a change in routine. Changes in routine lead to anxiety. Anxiety leads to scratching and insomnia. For a neurotypical kiddo, going back to school is an adjustment. For a kiddo with PTSD and anxiety, going back to school is a huge challenge. It stirs up memories of grief and loss. It causes separation anxiety, eczema flair ups, and insomnia. My youngest has the least amount of trauma from his early life experiences, so he is able to go with the flow a bit more. My daughter, however, cried at Meet the Teacher night. I realize that isn't too unusual for a first grader, but she has the same teacher, classroom, and students as last year. Our elementary school loops, so they have two years with the same people. I couldn't believe she had tears again! My oldest, on the other hand, is a mess. He can't sleep at night. We are back to someone laying with him or him sleeping in our room. He is a third grader, and we still go through this with each transition. He has been here almost three years. He has nightmares, his legs are full of scratches, and he can't stop thinking about his birth mom. All of this stems from his "normal" summer routine morphing into his "normal" school routine. I told people that I don't do anything for the first month after school starts. No appointments. No activities. I was thinking maybe I didn't need to pause everything this year, but I am glad I did. D just needs extra time with us. He needs to be reassured that we are not leaving him, he is safe, and he will be okay with this new normal again. Just like my daughter, he has the same classroom, teacher, and students. It isn't anything new. The challenge is just to readjust. We will make it, but it takes a lot of extra TLC. A lot of hugs, patience, and extra family time. We also experience a spike in tantrums and angry outbursts. We will survive.

Get Your Girl Back

Parenting takes a lot out of me. Especially parenting kiddos with special needs. From 2010 until now, I have really struggled with my mental, physical, and emotional health. Recently I attended the Thirty-One National Conference in Denver, and I heard four amazing motivational speakers. The one that really spoke to my heart, however, was Traci Bild, author of Get Your Girl Back. She talked about prioritizing life and taking deliberate steps to get your life back to the way you want it to be. We can't do everything, but we can prioritize and really focus on what is important to us. When I sat down with myself and figured out what "girl" I wanted back, I came to these conclusions:

• Fitness and Health - feel better, stronger, and fit back into my clothes. This includes having time to work out and the resources to eat healthy. 
• Parenting - spending time actually playing with my kids, cuddling, reading, and interacting one-on-one in a fun way every day for at least 10 minutes. Sometimes I spend an hour with one kid, but it is on homework or a project. I want to enjoy my kiddos. After all, I spent years trying to get them, right? Ten minutes doesn't seem like much, but ten minutes of one-on-one attention for each of my lovelies is a lot more than I have been giving.
• Marriage - We obviously married each other because we loved one another. Somewhere over the last few years, we have become a bit disconnected. It happened in little steps with events in our lives: miscarriage, moving, fostering, adopting, parenting, recruiting trips, etc. In the last few months, we have been more intentional about spending time together and remembering why we enjoy one another. We are even going to start "dating" again! 

Wow! My Thirty-One business and my teaching career didn't even make the list! What is truly important to me has nothing to do with money or prestige. It is health and family. Traci has emails, a dream journal, and a book coming out soon. I can't wait to dig further into her challenge to get my girl back! 

Summertime

I have been very quiet on social media lately. Part of the reason is that I needed to complete two graduate courses this summer, and one of them was extremely labor intensive. I mean, 8+ hours a day for three weeks straight. No joke. We also had a nice trip to see my family. The kids did great. They were flexible during changes in routine, they got along with cousins and extended family, and they were so much fun! D ended up picking his legs, but they did well overall. They are amazing travelers! We did boating, fishing, four-wheeling, water park hotel, amusement park, mini golfing, tubing down a river, and more. Memories to last a lifetime!

In other news, D grew 3 inches in the last year! That means, although he is still very small compared to his peers, we do not have to look at human growth hormones. We are so thankful! We will just keep up with high protein, high fat, and lots of fruits and veggies. D lost another tooth, and S finally lost her first tooth. It has been super exciting around here.

One of the biggest changes is that we acquired a second dog. It took eight years for me to agree to the first dog, and now we have two. A seven year old blue heeler mix joined our lab retriever mix. They get along fabulously, and the new dog loves to cuddle with the kids. She is actually more therapeutic than our dog has ever been. Although I am not enjoying the extra dog fur, it is great to see my kids experience unconditional love from an animal.

D continues working on his farm, and the big two went to a therapeutic horse camp this summer for kids who have experienced grief and loss. The sessions were full, so they actually created a separate camp for kids who are in similar situations to my kiddos (adoption, foster care, divorce) rather than death. It has stirred up some emotions, but it is also making them stronger. It is so cool to see my kids leading around these huge animals and gaining confidence. They have all decided to be vets now.

Tomorrow D will experience respite for the first time. His case manager is providing the respite for four hours, so he decided he could give it a try. They will be going hiking or playing at a park, eating lunch, and then playing games. He used to say that he didn't want to do respite (because he didn't understand what it is), but now he is excited to hang out with his friends from summer group. I hope it goes well! During the school year, he can go one Saturday a month to do some really neat activities like skating, the YMCA, movies, going out to eat, and more. I don't think any of us are interested in overnight respite, but I think he will enjoy the time away from his parents. It will be nice for the little two to get some more attention as well.

Next week the kids are going to their grandparents' house for a week while Dad and I get ready for the beginning of school. We will miss them, but I think it will be nice to have time with Nana and Granddad and get spoiled a bit. When they return, it is back to school with a Kingergartener, 1st grader, and 3rd grader! Crazy!

Are we done?

A couple weeks ago marked five years since we first found out we were pregnant. Five years. Wow. In some ways, it seems like just the blink of an eye. At the same time, it seems like a lifetime ago. Since then, we have lost two children to miscarriage, lost a grandfather and stepfather, parented and lost three great kiddos, moved three times, had three different jobs, and gained quite an extra 25 pounds each that we are trying to take off. So the question is, are we done? Do we plan on parenting any more kids? Biological? Adoptive? If the answer is no, which I think it is. Isn't 31 really early to decide you aren't going to have anymore kids? Do we take a surgical route to make sure we won't ever be pregnant again? If we decide to have surgery, then we eliminate all changes of us having biological children. We really and truly will never pass along our genes. We will never experience the first kicks of a child we created. We will never see which traits of ours got passed along. We will never get to pick names and decide if we want to find out the gender or be surprised when the baby is born. On the other hand, my kids are enough for me. Although I don't want to to be "left out" of those experiences, I don't want to parent another child. It all sounds so selfish when I write it all out, but it is really something to think about.

Grandparent Trip

We are so blessed to have such wonderful grandparents for our kids on both sides of the family. I am so grateful for the love and experiences our parents share with our kids. Here is just one example. D is currently on day six of a nine day trip with his paternal grandparents. About a year ago, Nana brought up the idea of a grandparent trip when each kid was at least seven years old. This year, D turned eight, and his cousin turned seven. So off they went! At Christmas, they found out the destination, Mount Rushmore, and received book about some of the places they were going to see as part of their Christmas gifts. Nana created an itinerary to help D with his anxiety, and he has been having a blast! He called the first couple days, but he has just been having too much fun to worry about us. They have gone to Denver, Cheyenne, and Rapid City. Pretty soon they will head back to Denver to drop off the cousin and then return home to Kansas. It is amazing that Nana and Granddad were willing to take my son and all of his baggage (literal and metaphorical) on a nine day adventure. That is true love.

Bad Memories

When I was a first-time expectant mother, life was full of possibilities. We became pregnant right away, and we were thrilled! I had taken the day off work to have a mental health day with my best friend who was moving to Georgia. When she got to my house, I told her I wasn't feeling well. I decided to take a pregnancy test, and it was positive! I am a worrier, so I called the doctor and had a blood draw just to make sure. Then I called my husband at work, and we promised not to tell anyone else until it was safe. By the time he got home, he had already told his work friends, so we decided to tell our "circle." We knew that some people have miscarriages, but we really didn't know anyone that had happened to. I vividly remember a hailstorm sometime that week, and my husband was outside watching. I told him to be careful, and he quipped, "I am a father now. I can do anything!" We were invincible.

Appointments came and went, and then we had a regular checkup. I hadn't gained any weight and the nurse couldn't find a heartbeat. That happens sometimes, they told us. So we had an ultrasound. When the tech said nothing, we knew it was over. I was supposed to go golfing with my dad. I had plans for lunch. They all stopped. After they moved us to a different room, we heard the doctor talking to a colleague outside the door about how she hated this part of her job. I told my husband we had lost the baby, but he was still being optimistic. When she finally came in, we were really just in shock. After she left, I did the required blood work. My husband, trying to be an optimist still, said, "Well, we weren't sure we could afford daycare, so maybe it will be okay." As we rode the elevator down, it was immensely symbolic. We arrived full of hope and left with sinking emotions. It was all too much. I passed out right there. When we arrived home, I was able to call my family and tell them what was going on. We would wait to see if my body would "take care of things" or if I would need a D&C. The next week was torture as I waited for my surgery. The only two things I really remember from that week are that my medical chart labeled the loss of my child as a spontaneous abortion and waking up from surgery and asking for my husband. The nurse told me I should still be asleep, but I very clearly explained to her that I would do whatever needed to be done to get out of there.

Since it was summer, I had no job to attend. I tried not to hate myself and my body for losing my child. I played mini golf on the Playstation and watched Food Network. I avoided my friends and prayed for time to speed up. My best friend moved away, and life continued. Wal-mart moved its baby section closer to the check out for the ease of parents. I had spent virtually my entire life checking out strollers and bassinets. My sister and I spent hours pouring over the JCPenny catalogues picking out baby items from the time we were small. Now baby paraphernalia made me burst into tears. I quit doing the shopping. If we went together, I made sure I had a plan for a quick escape. I still visited my sister-in-law. She was due with her second child the two weeks before me. I suffered through watching her grow my nephew and prepare for his arrival, a very real-time reminder of what we are missing. I tried to see a movie, Salt, with my husband. Right before the lights went out, I lost it. I had a panic attack. I am not sure I knew what it was at the time, but I felt like every patron in the theatre knew, somehow, that my child had died and I was out watching a movie.

In October, I received an invitation to a ceremony for "all parts from conceptions" from the hospital. We did not attend since I had already planned a trip to Florida, but I felt strangely uncomfortable as I vaguely remembered signing that the hospital could take care of the "remains" and that I wouldn't be there for the burial. It was easier for me to think of the miscarriage as a medical condition rather than a lost child. Avoidance and denial was the name of the game during that stage of the grief cycle.

Then we became pregnant again. I was a nervous wreck. Rather than testing biology again, I was leaning towards adoption, an option we had discussed for several years before even trying to become pregnant. My first doctor, who I really did love despite the whole situation, had switched practices. My new doctor was not willing to do the things my first doctor had discussed such as progesterone, regular heartbeat checks, and early ultrasounds. She said, "There really isn't any point in any of those things until we see if this baby lives." After that appointment, I never set food back into that practice again. I found a new doctor willing to work with and help ease my fears. The waiting room was hell. All of the very pregnant glowing mothers with their entourages in tow, finding out the sex of their child or counting down the days until the birth while holding hands lovingly. My husband and I were cowering in the corner squeezing hands tightly in fear. Blood draws and ultrasounds were a regular torture we endured. I didn't drink a sip of caffeine, I took care of myself in every possible way. I even went so far as to wear a special necklace someone had given me in order to help my body be strong. Seriously. For a month, we knew that our numbers weren't good. They were going up but not doubling. There was nothing to be done except have hope and wait. My doctor told me that things did not look promising but that she had seen all things in her time as a doctor and that nothing was beyond hope. One day we finally got a picture of our baby on the ultrasound! A real printout and everything! A few days later, on a Tuesday, I started bleeding. Since I had appointments about every three days, I had an appointment that afternoon. As I went in for an ultrasound, the necklace I had been wearing for luck fell to the ground and broke. The ultrasound tech wouldn't tell us anything, so we knew the drill. This time, instead of a surgery, I was able to miscarry on my own at home. The amount of pain was quite intense, cramping beyond belief. I imagine it is probably worse when actually giving child birth, but the adrenaline of knowing you are about to meet your child probably dulls some of the pain and allows you to make it through. Miscarriage pain is not only physical, but emotionally and mentally painful. The cramps were bringing me a bundle of joy, they were tearing my world apart again. My child was unceremoniously "passed" at home still in the egg sac and all. I am truly ashamed to say that my baby, my tiny little baby who had just become recognizable on an ultrasound, was flushed down the toilet. It took me ten minutes to write that. And now I am crying in shame. What could I have done? We lived in a town home so there was nowhere to bury him or her. There isn't a "thing" to do when you miscarry. To most people, it isn't even a baby, just tissue, nerves, and lots of blood. Was I supposed to take the "remains" to the hospital to be buried? Should I have contacted a funeral home? I still don't know what options there were. The doctor had sent me on my way, assuring me she would check in and see how I was doing. She never warned me or asked me about what was really going to happen.

I was now a "spontaneous aborter" because I had miscarried twice. What an awful phrase. As if I wasn't suffering enough from my first "spontaneous abortion," I now had a history of it. It was what I did with babies. It made me feel like a teenager sneaking into a shady clinic to meet a scary doctor to hide the evidence of my sins. I felt dirty and ashamed, like I was covered in the blood of my child, a scarlet letter of sorts.

Theses memories are the worst of the worst for me. I know there are more that I have forgotten, but after five years, these memories still remain; painful, raw, and shameful. I don't talk about them in these details. It makes people uncomfortable. I get a lump in my throat, tears in my eyes, and my blood feels thick. Bad memories.

Still Mothers

Tomorrow is the launch of a new group called Still Mothers.

I am very excited to be part of this project for mothers who have no biological living children. There are many facets to the group including a part for grandparents who have lost a grandchild, grieving parents who are trying to conceive, and families like our who have decided to adopt after losing a biological child. Losing a child can be a very isolating experience, so hopefully this is a great way for us all to connect and support one another. We are also on Facebook.