Addition

Let me tell you a little story about Math. Better yet I will write a Math problem for you to demonstrate my feelings about this subject.

Math + me = frustrated.

The end.

Now a series of ecards to further drive home how I feel about Math.

I will never argue if I am left brain or right brain. I am all right brain.

During my years studying Math as a kid, right up until that last exam my Sophomore year at Michigan State, I kicked and screamed and scraped by with B’s. I had to work my butt off for those grades!

Now here we are with a sixteen month old and I’m doing a different kind of Math. The Math problem I’m trying to solve is addition.  Adding another baby to the Bonventre equation.

I love being a Mom. Through the good and the bad it is hands down the best job ever! To say I am living a God given purpose in being her Mom is quite true. For even in the hardest days I have insane, indescribable joy raising my little babe.

I love sneaking into her room and watching her sleep. What is more precious. For a moment everything in the world feels perfect. She makes me laugh and smile all day long. I love watching my husband play and dance with her. It’s all so lovely.

 

Life is chaotic and hectic and pure bliss all at the same time. What more could I want? Then the pang in my heart starts. I flip back through pictures of my 5lb preemie and wonder where the days went. I miss my cuddly newborn.

I remember the days when my heart longed for her. Doctor’s appointments, so much prayer, shots, tears and then we conceived. More doctors appointments, so much prayer, loss and more tears. It was an uphill battle to get Charlotte Faith Bonventre here but God was gracious to us.

It wasn’t until I was talking with a friend several weeks ago that I admitted out loud why I am so hesitant to get pregnant again. Everyday of my next pregnancy I will mentally be fighting for peace. I go back to that horrified moment over and over in my mind. “We can’t find a heartbeat on twin A.”

Friends assure me, you’ve lived through the worst. I hope they are right but how easy it is to believe for someone else, anyone else over yourself. I wish I could take all their confidence and swallow it whole. Fully filling the doubt that tries to grow inside of me.

Of course I am stronger than I was and closer to God than ever before. So much good out of so much bad.

And then she’s patting me on the knee. Her squishy little hand comforting me amidst my worried thoughts. Staring up at me. Her front teeth showing out of her sweet little mouth.

It’s all worth it. It’s all so very worth it.

My feet hit the pavement. I look down at my bright blue Nike’s against the newly paved sidewalk. The shoes look sleek. At this point in my morning run, they are the only thing about my appearance that is clean and sharp.

Right foot, left foot, right foot, left foot. They take turns leading the way. Something about watching this repetitiveness makes the heaviness of my body slip away. My ponytail swishes back and forth on my neck. The heavy red train is secured under a baseball cap. I’m hot. I’m sweating. I’m out of breathe. It’s the best I’ve felt all day.

I’m several weeks into running. It has become a highlight of my day. A year ago as I took the first strides on the same path I ran today, I hated it. Does anyone love being out of breathe? The only incentive spurring me onward — the extra weight I was carrying on my post pregnant body. My goal was to lose a few pounds. My dream was to look like I did at 28. Forget about pre-pregnancy! I’m going all the way back to pre-wedding bod.  I wanted it so badly that in my desperation I thought, I should try running again???

So there I was, the open road and my determination to lose some baby weight.  A little overweight and A LOT out of shape. Fantasizing about abs and pants that didn’t cut off my circulation.

Wait I have abs! If abs stands for [a bit soft.]

What’s that?

It stands for abdominals.

My mistake. 

I went for a few runs last summer but my knees wouldn’t have it. They ached for days. With this new irritation and my already well seeded disdain for running, I at long last conceded. But like a moth to a flame I still held onto this fairytale that someday I’d be a fit, cool kid. I knew I’d be back.

Earlier this summer I’m standing in a local brewery outside of Baltimore. I was out of town for a work conference. I’m chatting with one of my peers, shooting the breeze about running and my knee pain comes up. They insightfully pointed out something I hadn’t thought of last summer. During pregnancy a woman’s ligaments get all stretchy and loose to support the changes going on inside which could have been directly correlated to my achy knees.

Hooray it’s not middle age!

This peeked my curiosity. So on a particularly stressful Friday I decided I would run.

I pulled out my old running clothes and wrestled to get them on. I doused myself with energy giving essential oils, grabbed my iPhone — hit the David Guetta station on Pandora and took my first steps.

Praise the Lord oh my soul! It was love at first step.

My knees are doing great. I’m still turtle slow but I don’t give a toot about that. I’m super proud that I’m sticking with it. It’s a release and well needed after working all day intermittently between my J.O.B & Mom duties.

 

I started this running thing a couple months ago to get physically healthy but little did I know it’d be two fold.

Mentally I was collapsing.

There’s a certain pressure I have always felt since becoming pregnant. It’s as though I have no tolerance for my own complaints amidst the reality that sometime ago I didn’t think I’d get pregnant. I have friends that still are waiting for their baby years later. Infertility has given me sight into a spectrum that can only be seen from this side of the fence.

I have undoubtedly put the highest standard of thankfulness on becoming a Mother. Sealed it with an iron lock and thrown away the key. So when I get frustrated in the day to day grind of motherhood, which is, ummmm a lot these days – I try to swallow it. I normally talk out my feelings. It’s how I process and deal with stuff but not when it came to this. So when little Ms. Charlie became a speeding bullet crawling and getting into EVERYTHING that can potentially KILL HER and Dad started traveling a lot I was like a volcano full of bottled up stress. Mt. Chavo was ready to BLOW!

I know Moms seem to do it all and do it all flawlessly but that myth is a crock of poo. No one does it flawlessly. Instagram’s a liar! We Momma’s need a little more grace especially towards ourselves. I was getting my rear end handed to me and instead of asking for help I kept juggling this hot mess of a life, all the while getting hotter and hotter. I wasn’t channeling my stress in a healthy way. I wasn’t enjoying anything. I was surviving. So when running beckoned and I answered I felt a sense of relief and peace all in one three mile experience.

Those shoes on my feet and the beads of sweat rolling down my face mean I’m alone. I’m alone to process my thoughts. I’m learning about endurance. I’m learning to push harder when I feel tired. When it feels like I can’t go any farther a mental conversation between my mind and my body begins.

Mind: Keep going.

Body: But I’m tired.

Mind: Keep going.

Body: Ok you’re the boss!

The mind is a powerful thing and these lessons I’m being taught during my runs hold water in all situations.

There are no marathons in my future. I still think those are reserved for a breed of superior human than I. However, there is a lot of growth being had on these runs.

 

 

The Diner

It was a bright sunny Saturday in March. The streets of Kercheval were already lined with empty cars patiently awaiting their owners to return from their errands. The cars shimmered in the sunlight as we turned into the parking lot.

My favorite of all brunch spots, Side Street Diner was first to check off of our agenda that day.

The restaurant’s front door swung wide. As I entered the smell of pancakes drizzled in syrup greeted us at the entryway. The crowd of hungry patrons waiting to be seated met our eyes. I did a quick glance around the restaurant accessing the time I’d have to wait before fresh coffee and yummy breakfast food hit my lips. A grumble rolled through my empty stomach at the thought of waiting.

They have their bill, they just got their coffee —– and then I saw her.

Her long wavy blonde hair gathered at the nape of her neck. She greeted an older couple that had just been seated. An unsettled feeling rolled over me.

What on earth am I going to say to her?

She’s the ultimate waitress. She remembers her customers names and the details of their lives. She serves good food and makes you smile the entire time you sit at her table. She’ll slide down in the booth right next to you and make you feel as though you’re not really at a restaurant but a friend’s house. The warmth that she gives isn’t just found in the food. It radiates from her kindness and compassion.

I watch her as she turns from the older couples booth, drink order in hand, to a corner table that seats a Mom and Dad and two spunky kids. Their parents chug black coffee trying to fuel up for the days activities.

I look down at Charlie snuggled in her car seat wishing it was just Matt and I. I want to shelter this sweet lady from peering down at my Charlie and being reminded she’s a Momma with no baby to hold.

I was excited to get back to some type of normalcy after we brought Charlie home from the hospital last summer. We visited the diner and our friend greeted us on the patio with hugs. We introduced her to Charlie and she gushed over how cute our peanut was and then I gushed over her growing baby bump.  I was so excited to get the details of how her pregnancy was going. She was due in August and that was just a few weeks away.

A series of heavy hearted details unfolded. My brow furrowed and tears waited at the brink of my eye, not being permitted to fall so I could be strong in front of my friend.

During a routine ultrasound the Doctor had seen a hole in her daughter’s heart complicating delivery plans and worrying Mom and Dad about the uncertain future of their daughter’s health. Matthew and I shared with her the difficulties we had through our pregnancy and I asked my friend if we could pray with her.

There under the big red umbrella covering our table I ended the prayer but still held onto her hand. Tears steamed down her cheeks and she thanked us. Several months later I  would stand not very far from that same spot and hear the unthinkable update. My friends daughter was born with DiGeorge Syndrome and only lived a few sweet months here on earth.

I knew we’d be back in the diner one day and on that day I would see her. Of course I wanted to see her. Hug her. But I couldn’t see past what I would say after I let go of her. So when I did wrap my arms around her I made sure our embrace spoke all of my heart felt sympathies.

I don’t know what I ended up saying but I will forever remember what she did. She spoke of pain. Of memories that sank so deep you could almost see them pressing into her skin. She spoke of a daughter, an angel that will live on in her heart. A daughter that brought such joy in so little time. She spoke of a nonprofit. She spoke of hope. While she spoke, I listened. I listened to her strength. I listened to her courage. I hung on her every word. I ate them up so much more satisfying than my coffee and blueberry pancakes.

I didn’t need to speak, I needed to be there for her. To listen to her. What kind of silly is it that I thought some magic words could remove her pain???? We can’t remove each others pain but we can carry it right alongside them.

So if you have a friend or family member going through a hard time talk to them. They might be feeling so alone. Break their isolating thoughts by caring enough to visit them or call them. Get them out of the house for dinner or coffee.

You don’t need to have the answers or the right words. Just let them do the talking. Ask them about work or summer plans. Ease into the conversation. Sometimes it feels so good for the grieving person to get back to business as usual topics! When in doubt reach out to someone really close to that person like their spouse or parents and get the green light from them about how to approach your friend.

During these conversations remember, they will let you know if they can’t talk about it right then. When they do share, respect the boundaries of talking too much about it! When we lost Juliet I had one friend with the best intentions who would start any communication with me with the whisper of “how are you.” They’d drag out each syllable in the most somber way. I knew they cared but it felt like they were hounding me. I was onto the next subject and they’d steer that depressing bus right back around to my loss.

As long as we are this side of heaven, we ourselves or someone close to us is going through a tough time. None of us are experts. None of us can remove the grief but we can carry this burden with them. Their really is strength in numbers.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Seven Things I Learned From 31 Days in the NICU

Earlier this week my sister-in-law brought home her son, Alex born at 32 weeks. Two babies were born into our family this year and both of them were preemies delivered eight weeks before their due date. Crazy right? I’m thinking these babies must have FOMO like their Mama’s.

Watching them in the NICU hold their 4lb baby boy  was all to familiar to me. We spent the first 31 days of Charlie’s life in the hospital. It brought back many tender emotions. It was just a few months ago that we were staring into Charlie’s isolette praying she’d come home with us.

I believe most women at some point in their pregnancy think [please let this baby come early.] With the combination of swelling, backaches, feeling like you can’t breathe, sleeplessness, and just overall can I have my body back and not be the size of a whale, it’s no wonder why we think this. Pregnancy is not for the faint of heart. That is for certain. However, when women think this, they don’t think two months early. They think like two weeks early.

When our daughter was born at 32 weeks I didn’t know that I would learn a new language. NICU, NG tube, gavage, MLs and isolette would be part of my daily dialogue. If you don’t know what any of those words or abbreviations mean consider yourself lucky. This language is only learned by those working in the hospital or by anxious parents of preemies.

Having a preemie has taught me more that just medical jargon. Below are the lessons I learned from our 31 days in the NICU.

Life doesn’t follow your plan.

I started to really understand this during our days of trying to conceive. Everybody has a vision chiseled out of when big life milestones are going to take place. Here are a few of mine.

• Get married by 28.
• Have children by 30.
• Retire by age 62 or earlier. Way, way earlier.

Sometimes you have a setback. We couldn’t get pregnant without medical help. We lost a twin. We thought Charlie might be born with a heart defect. Setbacks was the name of the game these past twelve months. So when Charlie came early it was all the more blindingly apparent that life is totally unpredictable.

Plan, what plan?

I watched my maternity leave dwindle down at the hospital. Those precious hours I should have been nursing and rocking my sweet girl to sleep at home were instead spent sitting in a hospital chair, watching her grow through her isolette. Yet as I watched her get stronger everyday I came to appreciate some things take time and are worth the wait.

Moral of the story, be flexible because life almost always doesn’t work out the way you plan.

Wait patiently or wait angrily. The choice is yours!

Eight days before Charlotte was released from baby jail / the NICU, Matthew and I were sure she was going to come home. A nurse had got us all excited that her release was just hours away. Our escape hinged on her successfully finishing her bottles for a 48 hour period. Which to our delight she had accomplished. This sounds simple, right? Not for a preemie. When you’re technically supposed to still reside in the womb, fed via the umbilical cord, suck – swallow – breathe is a really big deal. Let’s be honest, when I’m sucking down really good pizza even I have trouble with this.

After two good days of taking all her food from the bottle versus the NG tube, she was exhausted and sleepiness ensued. I was mad! I was sad! I was sick of this. I wanted my daughter under my roof. You’d think after waiting so long to get pregnant I could handle a few extra days waiting for her to come home. After all I had a daughter.

Oh yeah I have a daughter! How awesome!

And with that perspective we decided to make the most of our time.

We got projects done around the house. We slept (a lot). We went on dates. We cruised Woodward and got ice cream after leaving the hospital.

Within days we had our girl home.

You won’t be able to look at Kangaroo’s the same.

Kangaroo care was my favorite time during those weeks waiting for Charlie to come home.

Relationships will change.

When you’re in a pinch I’ve found the people who truly love you will have your back. Tough times are the gardening of friendships: the so-so friendships will be weeded out. People will surprise you for good and bad. Matthew and I just kept reminding each other how could anyone who hasn’t walked this road know how to respond. It’s always a choice to choose to be or not be offended.

Life goes on without you.

Target didn’t miss me. Outback didn’t close their doors. Hilary and Donald are still campaigning. Life kept going, business as usual. An obvious but humbling revelation.

God is ALWAYS good and He loves us FIERCELY.

For the first few weeks of Charlotte’s life I didn’t get to hold her a lot.  I couldn’t breastfeed her as much as I wanted to. She didn’t live at home with us. I had to drive 30 minutes, one way to visit her but all of these inconveniences meant one thing – I had a daughter! Praise the Lord. Hallelujah!!! I hoped and prayed for this child and God answered.

If I ever doubted God before, I can’t anymore. The love that I feel for this child is not of me. Not of this world. My Mom always used to tell me that she couldn’t describe how much she loved me and my brother but I would understand once I had my own children.

Becoming a Mom gave me a miniscule glimpse into how much God loves us, his kiddos. Infinitely. Forever. Unconditionally. Patiently. Joyfully. Gloriously.

It is so good to be a child of God and it is a blessing from heaven to be Charlie’s Mom.