and her little sister

Perhaps this blog deserves a new name:
"Serenity Joy and her little sister"

"Serenity Joy and the attached little sister"

We won't say where that little sister is most often attached.

I got bit by the attachment parenting bug in a bad way. Not really understanding it much. It wasn't like a did any preparation for Beanie. Well, ok, no, it was like I did very little preparation, not wanting to jinx her safe arrival with presumption.  I read a Dr. Sears' book and the book on Elimination Communication. But I don't understand healthy attachment in my bones, in my inner being. It's not something I received or saw modeled. 

In the old town, I did here some of those 'wishy washy' moms. Sounded patient but looking worn out. And I tried to pick up on their vibe, eavesdrop on their calm, unrushed phrasings.

Here in the state that thinks it's its own country, I don't hear those examples. I feel like a pariah.  And when Beanie is overcome with emotion, and those big emotions are coming out as screams and kicking and flailing, a martyr.

I just want to yell back. I want to kick and flail. Instead, I sit with her (just out of legs' reach). Occasionally asking if she wants a hug, a cuddle, milk, if she wants me to leave. Nothing to do but let these emotions wash over and out of her.

Beanie never took to a lovey. She is not attached to a blankie or a stuffed animal or a paci. She is attached to one thing, and that is me. I try not live in a place of fear, and I know she will move on when she is ready.

She refused the bottle; so when I say she was exclusively breastfed, she was exclusively breastfed. And she wasn't much into food for a long while, and I think still gets most of her nutrition from breastmilk. When she eats more food, she also tends to take more milk, so she is in a growth spurt and increases both, instead of increasing food and decreasing milk.

But I try not to live in that place of fear, fear that she'll never wean, because I know she will, in her time. Child-led they call it.

I doubt I would have parented Serenity this way. I would have been much more like the old me, like my dysfunctional parents. Serenity's death jolted me, broke my heart, which meant some rebuilding was necessary. But I do wish the learning curve was not so steep, that I wasn't still recovering from my own independent childhood.

And I want Beanie to turn to a human when she seeks comfort, and I hope both that I am always one of those people and that she learns how to pick good people to trust in her own life.

And days like today, when she got on a rollercoaster that doesn't end for an hour, I try to remember not to get on the rollercoaster too* and just be present, be the adult. But boy I wish I could throw my hands up and scream.


*A seminar speaker at out Montessori school, in talking about teens, said that they get on these emotional rollercoasters (which may sound something like 'I hate you') and that parents shouldn't get on with them and that often, the kid gets off and the parent is still on. Made soooo much sense. And so my mom and I. And I also read somewhere that toddlers are extremely intense and require alot of the parent; Then there is this golden age that the kiddo is really settled into themselves; And then they become teens and it's all toddlerhood in a big body with hormones. So, anything I hear about teens, I ferret away, maybe for now, maybe for later.

Those little people called toddlers

We got out of the house by 11. The goal was 9ish. But there were many distractions along the way. Plus I was filling the kidde pool in the morning, so the water could be warmed by the sun. So a test dip was necessary. And then we had to 'move the' duck. And get some clothes on (one of us was showered and dressed, I'll let you guess who). And start the beef stock.

Finally got in the car, drove half a block and out like a light (one of us, the other stayed awake for the driving part). Got gas and got to the spice store. I turn on my computer and format two subheadings before she woke up. Drat.

Beanie loves shopping. She likes to look around, say hi, carry stuff. She's actually just fine in stores. She might take something to look at , but I can't really scold her, "Don't touch that!!!" because I like to touch everything -or read labels-  in the store too. If I ask her to reshelve something, she does and in the general spot too. I've seen plenty of dairy case items in the cookie row to know that adults are worse. She did like the spice store, it's just too bad everything was sealed up and not available for some smelling.

We also went to the grocery store. Beanie will get onions for me, help carry items to the scales, pick out mushrooms with the tongs. Today she stayed in the shopping cart, which does make life nice for mama.

We came home and I tried to do some chores while she played outside. The pool is a big draw. A friend came over and they played in the pool, chased the not-so baby ducks and generally mucked about.

And she fell asleep an hour earlier than normal. So, I get to do some editing... yippee....

To post or not to post

that is the question.

In many ways life is mundane, but it is also a tempest.

When I moved, I thought of picking up blogging again, but I wanted to spend time meeting people here.  But I still spend an inordinate amount of time on the computer, on FB, reading parenting blogs and Montessori blogs.

I could right a blog about life. Or not.

So inspiring, right?

I was happy to receive so many comments on such an abandoned blog -  readers have not abandoned me and are obviously still caught up on their reading. My Google Reader is hopeless. I have too many blogs in there that aren't of interest (quilting?).

I also seem to have lost my voice. Or maybe my focus. I am also not sure how much I want to post about Beanie and her life. It's her life after all. I rarely even post on FB anymore. I know it's a new age, but those are her choices.

I suppose what I lack most in life right now is someone with whom to share deeply. I have acquaintances here, but playdates are not conducive to long, linear talks.  And I am not sure how much I want to share with the whole world wide web (or the 20 people that look here).

But I remember that connection I had with you... reading your blogs, reading comments, writing my deepest and ofttimes most compulsive thoughts. Processing. Sharing. Remembering.

I've also developed a bit of an avoidance coping strategy. No new dead baby blogs, because I just can't take it. I'm not proud of it, I feel like I should repay our community and be there for our sisters.

But I have taken from this blogging world knowledge. Knowledge of everything that can and too often does go wrong. And I am more delicate in asking questions and try to avoid making assumptions. At least I hope so.

And I try to keep conversation open. If someone wants to talk to me about infertility or loss, I like to think that I give off the right vibes and say the right things ('I am sorry to hear that.' AND STOP. JUST STOP!) And I don't deny Serenity.

Those chiding "When will you give little Beanie a brother or sister?" are often answered with, "She has a big sister who died in 2008," cue demure, downcast look (And the 'Shut the F up' in my head) or the "We are only raising one." 

I know who we are, where we've been, but we don't know what may be.

Infill

I write blog posts in my head.

Long, beautiful, heartfelt.

Forgotten by the time I get to the keyboard. (along with my awesomely witty FB status updates)

Life is full. There's even a big black hole in the center of my being that is full of dark, churning matter, matter which is often left to its own devices. A hole which seems to be covered over, maybe with a flimsy layer of moss or maybe some attractive greenery.

I don't know if I don't take the time for this hole anymore, this abyss of loss, this grief that doesn't feel like the grief I knew and understood. But my patience is thin and my temper as treacherous as quicksand these days.

Life has changed so much in this last year. Moving from where Serenity was has changed my reality. The triggers are not here; the people who 'knew' her, knew us then, are not here. It's a big disconnect.

Here, we are that perfect, happy couple with the charming little daughter, the ones that people wonder when we will add to our little family.

Moving was stressful, on the emotional end, on the practical end. (Owning a house where you no longer live is also lots of fun) It took me somewhere I was not yet ready to go and took me from somewhere I was not yet ready to leave.

Home is where my family is, and we have our little family here, Serenity too, here and there and not. The ashes are on a hutch, the essence is dispersed, the hole in me is empty and full.

I want that hole to be full, but with light, with positivity, with love, with compassion, with empathy. Hell, it could even spew rainbows.

But I am just not there. I am not enlightened, I am not good at being my better self. I am a complaining pessimist who gets easily stressed out.

Something is missing in my life. I search for what it is, thinking it is due to moving, leaving friends and a city I enjoyed. I join a community, searching for free thinkers. I search Amazon, thinking it is a book to read or a new toy for Beanie, or maybe a new kitchen gadget. I search Meetup, thinking it is new mama friends. I search for a babysitter, because toddlerhood is just too much. I search Etsy just because I am an addict (thank god I have avoided Pinterest). I try a new diet. A new park. A new dress. I dance around a verdant circle...

and realize that the soft, mossy patch is just a facade, a thin overlay to a deep abyss. Where I can not hope to be whole.

Four

Four.

It is a hole, and it is not. 
A space filled with unfulfilled dreams.
A void of love.

Our daily lives are so busy now, with your little sister. I feel your absence, see it when I see how she enjoys playing with other kids. Older kids, drawn to that big sister with whom she cannot play.  When I read about craft ideas that she's not ready for yet, but that would be perfect for you. When I see a butterfly, a bird, a bee. Or feel the sun or the wind. When I breathe.

I see how happy your sister is in her innocence, not knowing what happened to us before she came along. I hope she never knows that pain.

We miss you. Maybe we don't talk about you enough.

We will mark this day. We will have cake. We celebrate the time we had together and the love for you that we have for always.

xoxo Serenity xoxo

On names and signs

Triple S' cousin* just used 'our boy name' as her son's second name.

I am so bummed.

I think I will take this as a sign that we are done with more kids.

*This is the cousin who's daughter was born ~11 months after Serenity died. I just can't take her half-Asian little girl, I try and try. It's a hang up for me.

How many kids do you have?

I am raising one daughter.

?

I heard someone say yesterday that he raised three daughters. I think that might be my new answer.

Let them wonder, and possibly ask, about the others. Was I a bad mother, and they were taken away to foster care? Did one die? Maybe they won't even notice the particular phrasing.