Full Circle

    I started writing this post withe the intention of talking about how different it was preparing for Aspen's birth compared to now preparing for Olivia's arrival. I was going to call it something cute like, "An open letter to new moms" and share about all the things I thought were important with Aspen that weren't all that important after all. I wanted to share about how you don't need five different types of blankets, matching delivery outfits for mom and baby, and an oil diffuser when you check into the hospital. I wanted to talk about the maternal strength and confidence that develops over years or parenting, not hours of labor. I wanted to write about other cutesy things like gift registries, baby showers and meal trains. But then I started writing, and realized I couldn't possibly exclude my first daughter from this portrait I was painting. 

    Mayrah's story sometimes makes our story seem too messy to explain on a blog. How can the new moms I would be targeting relate to a still birth? That's literally the worst demographic to share Mayrah's story with. It's every new mom's biggest fear. But this blog is called Her Whole Self. It's not Her Cutesy Self, or Her Social Norm Self, or The Part of Her Self that Relates to You, or Her Deemed-acceptable Self. This blog is about being unappogetically barefaced and honest. This blog is about showing other women that life is bigger than Pintrest, and not one of us has it fully "figured out". This blog is about the ups and downs of real life. It's about mental health and  personal growth, addiction and recovery. It's about infidelity and forgiveness, grief and hope, joy and pain. This blog is about the journey of living and accepting all parts of ourselves along the way with unbridled compassion. 

So, *deep breath*, here goes. 

We are gearing up for the arrival of our daughter later this month. She is not due until September 9th, but she keeps trying to make an early break for it and after 35 weeks, I'm not gonna keep trying to stop her. 

I've been here before in this expectant place. Each day there is an urgency to get things done, and also an incredible excitement about what this day may bring. The first time I was here though it was very different. While most mothers anticipate the birth of their child, I was anticipating the death of mine. Every day I'd look in the mirror wondering how much longer I'd be sporting that little bump, knowing that when it was gone it wouldn't be replaced by a babbling baby, but rather, achingly empty arms. We knew our first daughter had Turner's Syndrome and her specific condition wasn't compatible with life. Many girls and women live vibrant lives with Turner's Syndrome, but the way Mayrah's symptoms developed we were told this would not be the case for her. Carrying her as long as I could and delivering her little body felt like the most respectful thing to do for her, once we were assured that her little being didn't experience pain from her condition. (A little note to add that I was grateful for the choice to continue carrying her and I have complete sympathy, support and understanding for mothers who make different choices than I did.)

And so every day I looked in the mirror at that little bump, and held on just a bit longer. I had a gut feeling when she passed. I never took a hospital bag to my check-ups, but I did on the morning of March 30th because I knew in my bones she was already gone. I was right and we headed to the hospital for an induced still birth. Her tiny body was delivered on March 31st, but only God knows the moment her little soul made it home. 

Her original due date was August 8th, 2016. Anniversaries like these are nostalgic and hold many emotions. Four years ago I waited for August 8th to roll around with dread and when it did I didn't have the emotional strength to even be present for it. It was sometime close to this date I went on my final alcoholic binge, which launched into my first manic episode where I essentially said adios to my life and left my husband to deal with the loss all on his own. 2016 was arguably the worst year of our lives. In many ways, we are still recovering from the shit storm that was partially circumstancial and partially manifested by my extremely poor decisions. 

I did eventually get sober a few weeks later and I haven't picked up a drink since. Other flawed coping mechanisms have taken more time to kick. It took about a year for my husband and I to reconcile. About a month after I moved back into our apartment we got pregnant with our now 2-year-old, Aspen.

Now, approaching four years after Mayrah's original due date, here we are eagerly awaiting the arrival of Mayrah's youngest sister, Olivia. Wouldn't it be amazing if she decided to arrive on August 8th? 

It seems like a full circle moment, as Olivia will most likely be our last child. The story-teller in me wants to wrap this season of child-loss, separation, reconciliation, and child-birth up with a pretty leather binding and let that be that. 

My wiser self is not that naive though. This is the end and the middle and the beginning all at once. We are closing the chapter of our family of three. We are continuing our life-long adventure of personal and relational growth. And we are beginning the life of one more marvelous human being. Every part of each one of these stories is beautiful and important. 

So what I want to tell you today, instead of what to pack in your hospital bag, is this: 

Don't edit your story. Don't exclude any part of who you are or how you got here. Each piece of your history is part of your whole self. And people are desperate for permission to be their whole selves. You being your whole self is an invitation for others. Let's send those invites out!