Updated on June 4, 2015
Dear Arabella (June 2, 2015)
Dear Bella Grace,
Oh my sweet girl. Where do we even begin to describe yesterday? Your wordy mommy is struggling to find the right words to begin – if anything that should be an indicator of the gravity of the day!
We got to see you again yesterday. Regardless of numbers and medical findings and diagnoses, that is always such a special thing for your daddy and me. We just absolutely love getting to actually see you, instead of just feel your wiggles and kicks. And yesterday we got a real treat. The tech must have been feeling particularly generous, because she pulled out the 3d wand just so we could get a good view of your face. You, my dear, were your typical uncooperative self. Trust me, darling, the sooner you get over this camera aversion, the better. But you were quite intent on hanging out with your face pressed into your placenta (is that really the most comfortable spot?). The tech poked and prodded you trying to get you to turn, but you stubbornly held your ground. It’s ok, little girl. That little stubborn tenacity in you may be very needed. And despite your inopportune locale, we were able to get one stunning image of your face. I thought I was indescribably smitten before. But oh my goodness. Those cheeks of yours! They are already so perfectly chubby and ready for kisses to be planted. I can hardly wait for the day I can stroke them…but I will, because you need to stay and keep growing in mommy as long as possible.
Updated on June 4, 2015
Dear Bella Bees (From Daddy, May 31, 2015)
Dear Bella Bees,
You are growing so big! Some days I just want to pick you up and squeeze you, maybe even throw you up in the air in playful fun, though I imagine mommy might find that a bit uncomfortable. May you know that we, and others, many others, are praying for you.
I had a thought the other day. You are entirely at the mercy of someone greater than yourself; someone you have neither seen nor whom you can possibly fathom. Your world is smaller than a watermelon. So, you’ll wake up, do your morning swim, followed by rigorous gymnastics, a few punches to mommy’s bladder at opportune moments, an appreciative kick here and there after a good meal and few special gyrations when a strange voice talks to you in the late evening. And all this will take place in your watermelon. By now, you’ve gotten rather accustomed to your watermelon, and you may even find it comfortable, if a bit cozy. You need not worry about food or drink, breathing, bathroom breaks or any countless number of concerns outside of your little abode. What’s more, you are unaware that every element of your life is being met and cared for, such that you cannot be thankful for these things. You don’t realize that your life is actually taking place inside someone else who is allowing for your survival and sustenance. You live in bliss as a result of your innocent ignorance.
Updated on June 4, 2015
Get me off this ride
It’s amazing how much comfort I derive from from the illusion of control and predictability.
It’s amazing – and not pretty – how strained life becomes when that illusion is shattered.
As you know, I’m currently in the process of raising an almost two year old. Lessons in control abound in our household…daily, if not hourly. Part of my important role as parent is repeatedly shattering my daughter’s sense of control over every aspect of her life. Teaching her that sometimes Mommy needs to, for her health and happiness, make the decisions because Mommy has a much greater awareness of the situation and the consequences of certain actions. So no, Eliana, I will not allow you to pick up and potentially taste test the goose poop at the park. And trust me, that is not some cruel punishment I’m exacting on you.
Last week, while down in LA for a dear friend’s graduation, we had the opportunity to take Eliana to Disneyland. We were heading there with one of my best friends from college and her family. I was so excited to see Eliana take in the happiest place on earth for the first time. I’m smart enough to know that no day with a two year old is picture perfect, but I could just envision her enthusiasm in pointing out and identifying all of the incredible visual stimuli. She loves to be tossed, and spun, and swung, so I thought she would like the rides quite a bit as well.
Updated on June 4, 2015
The dress
One of the things I missed most about China when I moved back to the States was the interactions with all the various sellers of wares I would visit on a weekly basis. While I love the convenience of weekly shopping at one supermarket, I missed the personal interaction with my fruit sellers, with my egg lady, with my pen guy, with my vegetable seller…the people who patiently and graciously put up with my stumbling Chinese and gave me prices (at least to my knowledge) pretty darn close to the locals. And so I decided to get as close to that relationship as possible in the mass market grocery store of my American town. My husband and I picked one particular checker that we would always go to if she was there. We would strike up conversation and get to know her as best as possible. Jammie was our pick, and she celebrated the news of our first pregnancy and cooed over our newborn daughter. Jeff occasionally would pick up a plant for her as well when he bought flowers for me. We excitedly told her when we were expecting again, and she would talk to Eliana about being a big sister.
Since the news about Arabella I had only run into Jammie a couple times at the store. She’s moved on from checking most of the time, and instead is a “lane director.” In our few passing interactions the time had never seemed right to launch into Bella’s story. And so I smiled as she would comment to Eliana about her impending big sisterhood.
Today I ran into Jammie back in the baby & toddler clothing section. She asked if I was looking for something for the new little one. And so I launched into my not quite perfected, still somewhat bumbling explanation that there were some health concerns and we weren’t sure if we were going to get to bring her home. But that we were praying a lot and taking it day by day. But that no, we weren’t really buying anything for her. She passed on her sympathy – really the look of care and concern on her face was enough – and I returned to my hunt for summertime jammies for Ellie.
Updated on June 4, 2015
A sliver
“So does that mean there’s hope?”
“That means there’s a sliver of hope.”
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Yesterday morning we headed off to the UW again. This time we were at least a little more prepared for what we were facing. The news couldn’t get worse, right? We had been warned – repeatedly – that with her condition Arabella could potentially pass at any time. But our little mover and shaker was still moving and shaking, so we knew that news wasn’t waiting for us. What was waiting for us was a small glimmer of hope for measurements showing unexpected growth.
Updated on June 4, 2015
Dear Arabella (April 30, 2015)
My sweet girl. It’s hard to believe that exactly one month ago we sat in the genetic counselor’s office receiving news we did not expect nor wanted to accept. Oh what a day that was! One that will not likely be forgotten the rest of your mommy and daddy’s lives. Tomorrow we’re heading back to that same office. That same waiting room. We’ll probably sit in front of the same fish tank. The fish tank where to pass that hard waiting time your daddy and mommy developed a whole social stratification of fish. There were the jocks, the cheerleaders (always traveling in a pack), the awkward nerd. And then there was the tiny fish minding her own business. We decided that was you. Our little one.
We’ll go back to the same…or a similar…ultrasound room. And there you’ll be featured on the big screen. Oh Bella, this is what I am most excited, and at the same time nervous, about. I can hardly wait to see you again. To not just feel you twist and turn, but to actually watch your acrobatics. Last time you did a mighty good job of hiding your beautiful profile from mommy and daddy. But my one request little one is that you hold that pose for just a little bit tomorrow. Mommy wants a new picture of your sweet face for the fridge. You must understand, mommy loves her photographs and you’re just going to need to learn to cooperate.
Your daddy and I have been hoping and praying that in this past month that little ribcage of yours will have miraculously grown beyond expectations. We’ll be holding our breaths when that measurement comes around. Here’s the thing. We serve an awesome, incredible God who created all things. In fact, He simply spoke them into being. So we know very well that should He so choose, He could command that ribcage of yours to grow…and it would have no choice but to grow. But we also serve a God whose ways and thoughts and plans and purposes are far beyond our imaginings. And we do not know the way in which He is going to choose to heal you. Our pastor Josh talked a couple weeks ago about the importance of planning for the future with both humility and courageous hope. Humility that accepts our limited knowledge, foresight and understanding. Courageous hope that knows the power of the one we serve. Tomorrow we’ll walk into that room trying to hold the tension of those two characteristics in balance.
Updated on June 4, 2015
24 weeks
24 weeks today. 6 months. There’s something so significant to me in reaching this date. Whereas we have recognized the life in this child every one of those weeks, this is the week where the state officially recognizes Arabella as a living being. It’s the week where burial is required in the case of fetal death following birth. It’s the week in which abortion becomes illegal…except in cases of terminal diagnosis. To me it is validation that this little girl has weight in this world. There will be a record of her life, in more than just her family’s hearts and minds. For some reason, that matters.
These days, these days of waiting, and hoping, and grieving, and rejoicing, and accepting, and living of the mundane while grasping for the eternal…these days that sometimes seem to melt away quickly, and sometimes move in slow motion. Oh how do I adequately express what these days are for us?
The grief, the fear, the emotion, it dances on my soul like waves pounding the shore. Sometimes it’s just a gentle caress, pushing and shifting the landscape, but in a way that is hardly noticeable if not closely observed. And then on other days, the wind picks up and those waves crash hard and fast and steady and its effect is impossible to deny.
Updated on June 4, 2015
Well Acquainted
It’s 3 am. Again. But the reason for this midnight rendezvous with Jesus is not particularly spiritual.
The reason is one of the most obnoxious ailments I’ve ever had the privilege of experiencing – hand, foot and mouth disease.
This year our family has had our fair share of nursery induced illnesses. I’m far from a germaphobe, and see illnesses as building up immunity, so the benefits of worshiping peacefully with my husband tend to outweigh the almost predictable Wednesday appearance of the nursery ailment of the week. However, a few weeks ago, after a particularly vicious bug that completely altered our toddler’s demeanor for over a week (and about the seventh nursery bug of the year), my husband and I became a bit wary of the routine. And so we alternated services for a few weeks, keeping Eliana home and therefore illness free. Honestly the decision was mostly for our own sanity and desire for a happy toddler.
But Easter Sunday, yes, of that holy week, we dropped her off in the nursery. And sure enough, come Wednesday evening, the fever arrived with a vengeance. It didn’t last long, though – just a day or so. And then these little sores appeared on her hands and feet and bottom. For a more experienced parent that probably would have been a red flag. However, during the aforementioned vicious bug, which included a high fever over a period of several days, she had broken out in a rash once the fever subsided. In retrospect, that rash was entirely different in both location and appearance, but we chalked it up to the same thing. Once again, Eliana’s demeanor was dramatically altered and she was near impossible to deal with. She was, to be exact, a little ticking time bomb with the shortest fuse imaginable. And to be entirely honest, Mama’s patience began to wear a little thin, as all other symptoms other than the lingering “rash” were absent – shouldn’t she be feeling better – and hence behaving better?
Updated on June 4, 2015
And her name shall be
Dearest daughter,
Perhaps more so than with your sister, when your daddy and I sat down to choose your name we felt a great weight of responsibility. We knew that for someone so special there was going to have to be a particularly significant meaning for your name. We wanted to find just the perfect name to encapsulate…or at least begin to encapsulate…who you are. We wanted it to be a name that reminded you and us of truth whenever we spoke it. And my dear, it of course needed to sound beautiful – to suit one so wonderfully created. All of those desires stacked together made for quite the challenging task.
I tried looking up names by meaning. Oh I found names with great meaning. But their pronunciation was either impossible to decipher, or they failed to, shall we say, roll off the tongue, or they were likely upon their telling to result in furrowed brows and a quick attempt to mask confusion. So I tried looking at pretty names, names that I just loved their sound. But one by one those were discarded, none having the significance I desired. There were two almost names that your daddy and I tossed around for a couple days. Good meaning, good sound…but I can’t explain it, I just knew they weren’t your name.
Updated on June 4, 2015
To Poppy from Daddy
I’ve discovered, and people have passed on, the blogs of mommies who have walked a similar road to me. It is such an encouragement (although sometimes painful as well) to read the words of this sisterhood. But what I haven’t seen a lot of is the perspective of the father. So when Jeff wrote out a letter to his dear little girl, I wanted to share it to give a more complete perspective on where we’re at. One quick sidenote – Poppy is this little one’s “womb name.” When we found out we were pregnant, she was the size of a poppy seed – hence the name. We’re working feverishly at discerning her “real” name, but haven’t landed on it yet. So settle in, and grab a box of tissues (but prepare for a few chuckles amidst the tears). I love this man. And he’s pretty much the best daddy a girl could ever dream of.
You Grow That Rib Cage, Baby Girl. That’s an Order
A letter from a daddy to his (unborn) daughter
Dear Poppy,
Thank you for letting us see your beautiful face last Thursday. You were having quite the party, I could see, flipping around and using those little legs to put on quite the show. It was as if you knew the camera was on you and you wanted mommy and daddy to see that, for whatever you lacked in apparent length, you made up for in energy and life. As per the showing off part, your sister does that too, so I imagine you come by that quite honestly.
But Thursday was significant for another reason. It’s the reason I’m writing this letter to you tonight as my heart aches and my mind wanders. Here is your story, as told by your daddy who loves you very much. It’s a story that is still being written, but a story that has already etched itself into my heart. On these pages bear the contents of my heart, mushy and raw.
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