Archive | September, 2013

What’s in a Name?

17 Sep

I recently changed the name of my blog, as most of you know.

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When I first started blogging, I picked the name “Minute for Mama” quickly and without a lot of thought. As I started blogging more, I realized the name didn’t really fit the direction I wanted my blog to go.  In the beginning, I thought I would be posting these wonderful and thought provoking stories. The more I wrote, the more I realized that that was just one part of what I had to share. I also have humor, recipes, creative things to do with your family and kids, frustrations with life. It was more than “taking a minute for Mama”. It was sharing the minutes in my day with all of you. With the realization that my name no longer fit my vision, came the decision to change my name. *Enter “just like dandelions”*

So, why dandelions? What is the significance?

I will be taking the next few posts to explain just that.

Keep your eyes open for my 5 part blog series “The Story of Dandelions”.

Again, thank you so much for sticking with me through this change!

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Little Miss Does Gymnastics

11 Sep

Thanks for sticking with me during my blog change! I really hope you like the new look, the new name, and the new direction. I will be doing a series of posts soon on why the name “Just Like Dandelions” and what the story is behind it! Please feel free to leave comments on your thoughts!

Now, for my first video on the new blog:

Here is the long awaited gymnastics video! I think its safe to say that she loves it!

And Baby Makes… (Part II)

7 Sep

Just as suddenly as this baby, and the joy that came with it, appeared, she was leaving.

I stumbled out of the bathroom in a daze. I walked into the living room and sat on my chair. I picked up my computer, and began to play online games. No one even knew I was pregnant. Who do I turn to for support? How do I break that news? I stared blankly at the computer screen, praying for the pain to end. The pain in my abdomen, and the pain in my heart. So. Much. Pain.

As I stared at the computer screen, I said blankly, “I’m bleeding. I thought you should know.”

Mr. looked up, slightly confused. “What do you mean?”

As though he should “just know”, I responded matter-of-factly, “I’m bleeding out of my vagina.”

“Oh. Are you ok?” He asked.

“Yeah. I guess so.” I replied. I mean, what was I supposed to say? I wasn’t ok. My baby wasn’t ok. My world wasn’t ok.

Mr. continued working on his computer and a while later, he says, “Hey… Do you think Option A or Option B?” As he turns his computer toward me.

Angrily, I yelled, “My baby is DEAD and you want me to care about a stupid website?!? How dare you?!” I then focused my attention back on my screen.

“What do you mean?” He asked.

“I mean, I’m bleeding and cramping, and our baby is dead.” I answered. This time not in anger, but in admittance. I repeated myself, “I’m bleeding, and our baby is dead. My baby is dead.” I began crying. The kind of cry where no sound comes out, just the constant flow of hot, salty tears and an occasional gasp for air.

Mr., confused and concerned, says quietly, “I’m sorry. Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“I did tell you.” I said, anger returning.

“No, you just said you were bleeding. You didn’t say anything about a miscarriage.” And there it was.

Miscarriage.

I hadn’t said it, I hadn’t even thought it yet, but all of the sudden, there it was, staring me in the face. As I replayed Mr.’s words over in my head, I began to skew them.

No, you just said you were bleeding. You didn’t say anything about a miscarriage…

You just said you were bleeding. You didn’t say anything about a miscarriage…

You are bleeding, it’s only a miscarriage.

It’s only a miscarriage.

Then I began adding my own commentary to the words [I thought] he had said.

It’s not like you were even that pregnant. No one even knows. It’s not like it’s even a real baby… it’s only a miscarriage.

Wait. What?! Not a real baby!?! How did I allow myself to get to this place? The place where I think my baby doesn’t matter. The place where society starts to whisper in your ear… No. This is my baby. Whether I was 7 weeks pregnant, or the baby was 7 years old, I still lost a child. A precious life, no matter how long lived.

Are you allowed to grieve a child you never knew, and only knew about for a week and 3 days?

I think so.

So, the grief continued.

I denied it. I was angry. I thought about the what-ifs. I cried.

And then, it hit me. My baby, that I lost, was still just, “the baby”. “The baby” needed a name. I needed “the baby” to be “________, my baby”.

We thought and prayed about what to name our little love.

Should we give the baby a boy name or a girl name? Or a unisex name? What should the  name mean? Should it matter what the name means? Should we use a family name for the middle name like all of our other children?

Somehow, I don’t really know exactly, we decided on a name. A girl name.

Mara Cai

Mara is Hebrew for “bitter”.

At first, I was so bitter toward everyone, including myself and God. What did I do to deserve this? I know the answer. Nothing. I didn’t do anything to “deserve” to lose my baby.

Cai is Welsh, meaning “rejoice”.

Now that the pain is subsiding a bit, I can genuinely rejoice in the thought of joining my baby in Heaven one day.

Together, her name means, “Rejoice after bitterness”.

And I do rejoice. I still cry sometimes. But mostly I rejoice. I rejoice for my baby’s earthly life of 7 weeks, but more so for her eternal life in Heaven. I rejoice that she never had to endure the pains of this world. I rejoice that her heart is whole, and can never be broken. I rejoice that she is being loved by the best Father there is. I rejoice that I got to be Mara’s mom for 7 short weeks. I rejoice that because of God’s love and sacrifice, I will meet her one day.

So, for those of you who read the title of this post, and were expecting a joyous little bundle in 9 months, this one’s for you:

And baby makes… an angel.

And Baby Makes…

5 Sep

I have an announcement to make.

At the end of July, Mr. and I found out that we were expanding our family.

I took not one, not two, but  three pregnancy tests. They were all positive.

Mr. had no idea I had even bought tests, let alone taken them.

Middle Little walked into the bathroom and I decided to have some fun.

“Here, Buddy,” I said, handing him the positive test, “Go give this to Daddy!”

He took the stick from me and looked confused. “Go ahead…” I urged. He ran out of the bathroom and to the couch where Mr. was sitting. I waited behind to give it a minute to register.

“Where did you get this?!?!” He exclaimed, “Give that to me!” Then to me, “Ummmm… do you know our son is carrying around a pregnancy test?!”

I just waited quietly.

“Here, Buddy. Give that to Daddy,” Mr. said. Middle Little handed it over. “Thanks.”

There was a moment of silence, followed by, “Oh my gosh! Are you serious!?! That’s great!” The smile on Mr.’s face said it all. He was thrilled. And so was I.

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We had a brief discussion about who to tell, and when. We decided to bask in the joy of our good news alone for a while, and after a few weeks just tell people as it came up.

The next days went on uneventfully.

Thursday, August 1, 2013 I woke up feeling great. I even made a mental note about how I wasn’t nauseous (which I had been starting to feel in the mornings for about a week and a half). I went on with my day as usual, but around dinner time was feeling a bit crampy. Thinking I hadn’t had enough to drink, I gulped down some water.

As the evening progressed, the cramping got worse. I told Mr. that I needed to lay down for a while. I went to bed around 8 and at about 9 I got up to go to the bathroom. I sat down, and there it was: a bright red spot of blood.

I looked down and looked at the blood. As it registered what was happening, I became angry. Angry at myself for not taking better care of my body. Angry at Mr. for not coming and making sure I was okay (he didn’t even know I was awake, let alone what was transpiring). Angry at my kids for being naughty and causing stress. Angry at my baby for not hanging on. I was angry.

So. Very. Angry.

Just as suddenly as this baby, and the joy that came with it, appeared, she was leaving.

…to be continued…