Losing Her

Five years.  It’s been five years since I lay on that table, joyfully looking at the screen, waiting to see that little light flash steadily, solidly.  Five years.  Five years since the silence and darkness of that tiny room enveloped us as the technician quietly asked us to wait a moment.  I knew.  I knew right then.  Case didn’t want to believe it and CJ was so tiny, but I knew.  Then came the motions, walking across the street, waiting for the blood draw, the long drive home from Philadelphia, the sleepless night, and the phone ringing, ringing, ringing at my desk.  I didn’t want to answer because I knew. 

“Courtney, the baby is gone.  I think you need to come in so we can help.” 

Was it silence or deafening screams that I heard?  I don’t remember.  I just remember taking notes like I always did for an exam.  Numbers low.  Cramping might occur.  Come in on Friday.  We can find out why.  I’ll take care of you.  Swallowing the dark air that suddenly filled the room.  That voice of the stranger (me).

“I understand.  I understand.  Yes, I understand.” 

Click as I set the phone down, the hollow dial tone as I picked it back up to call for a ride.

“Come and get me.  Our baby is gone and I can’t get her back.”

The quiet days that followed.  Waiting to drive back to Philadelphia, back to the hospital where CJ was born, back to see Dr. Shawl with his endless jokes and kind eyes, only knowing that this time I’d leave empty.  Empty in a way that I never thought possible.  Dropped CJ off and headed to wait.  Wait for hours and hours.  The clock rhythmically clicking.  Almost all day.  Had to fit me in between all of those blessed women who were sweating and crying as they brought those beautiful souls into the world.

“McGinnis?  McGinnis?  It’s time to go.  Walk across next door.”

The long walk.  The fleeting thought that they would be wrong.  She would be happily sleeping nestled against my heart.   That the dating was wrong.  That they forgot to hook up the heart monitor. Changing into the gown.  Silent tears sliding down my cheek.  Case always there.  Holding my hand.  Avoiding my eyes.  Staying strong.  Excusing himself as the kindly nurse came to prep me.

“I know what you are going through.  I’ve lost eight myself.” 

My eyes closing as the wheels start to move.  Bright lights.  Young eager faces poking me.  Their excitement at a new procedure for the day spilling over me.  Technical language.  Steps to the “procedure”. Tears starting to flow.

“What’s wrong?  Are we hurting you?”

“It’s just been a really bad day.” 

What do I say to that young, eager face?  Your triumph toward your education is my worst nightmare?  Your excitement about ripping my child from her warm soft bed is a bit off-putting?  My life will never be the same and you will go out with your friends to celebrate?  I am not going to survive this?

“What will happen to the baby?  Can you give it to me?”

“It’s too small.”

They said there was no reason to “put me under”; a local that will make me sleep would be enough.  The blackness overwhelmed me.  I woke, eyelids fluttering, to bright lights, a dull thud in my head, a hole in my heart, an emptiness that will never be filled. 

“You put up a good fight.”

“What?”

“You put up a good fight.  We had to put you all the way out.  You wouldn’t stop kicking me.”

I fought for her.  It gave me some comfort.  To know that until the end, I was her Mama.  I fought for her.  I fought… but I still left empty handed, empty hearted.  Out the doors.  To the cold car.  Stopping to get our beautiful boy who spent the day playing and eating meatballs.

The days to follow were a blur.  We ran out of town to our favorite place as if escaping the house, the town, and the world would change things.  The flowers came, the cards, the whispered phone calls as I lay, armed draped over my empty womb, on a wet pillow trying to figure out how to get up.

“She’s okay.  She can’t talk now.  Maybe next week.”

Next week came.  I went back to law school, to work, to being a Mama and a wife, returned phone calls, and wrote thank you notes.  The days stretched endlessly and the nights were even longer.  Sleep eluded.  My child breathing in and out kept me up on vigilant watch.  Somehow convinced that he was next, I couldn’t stop looking at him.  If I couldn’t protect the child in my womb, how could I protect the one walking around?  Days passed and the phone rang. 

“She was a girl.  She had Turner Syndrome.  You can try again.  It’s not likely to happen twice.”

We named her then, Lucy Marie McGinnis, our beautiful daughter.  It’s been five years.  I still miss her.  I am grateful for her beautiful sister who came less than a year later and her amazing brother who was my lifeline then.  I tried to listen to everyone say it would be okay.  That time heals all wounds.  Five years.  Life moves on.  Days are happy.  The sun shines.  I love my life.  I love my family.  I am strong.

I am not whole.  Every night I still say good-night to my sweet Lucy.  Why did she have to go? 

Raising A Daughter

I wrote this about a year or so ago after I had made a post on a friends Facebook status. 

The other day I commented on a friend's Facebook page.  The thread was related to raising daughters in a nation that is so gender dominated.  My comment went something like "My daughter is so girly.  It's driving me nuts.  LOL!"  Someone called me out on it.  I'm glad that she did, too.  When I reread the comment I realized how negative it sounded.  It actually sounded like I hated those traits in her.  Not only did the comment sound harsh, it really wasn't true. 

I love those traits in my daughter.  I love to see the compassion in her face as she hugs or rocks her babies.  I love knowing that she is modeling behavior she sees in me so I must be doing something right.  I love how her eyes light up when she sees pretty necklaces and how she always wants a string of beads around her neck.  I love that puts her bags over her arm the way I do with my purse.  I even let her wear her shiny church shoes in the middle of the week because she gets so much happiness out of it.  I love knowing that she will likely change phases a million times and that I have the honor of being at each stage.  I can't wait to do all of the "girly" things that I did so rarely growing up.  I can't wait to share some of these experiences with my own mother as well. 

All of these thoughts made me pause to think about why I never did these things when I was growing up.  Truth is some of it was lack of interest, but a lot of it was fear.  I was a tomboy. I grew up with brothers and boys around the neighborhood.  The only way to fit in was to show how tough I was.  Never ever cry.  Hide all the dolls before they come over.  Blow up your Barbies with the army men.  Never ever cry.  Pretend that tea parties are silly.  Never ever cry.  Only wear a dress when you have to because you are not pretty like the other girls anyway.  Looking back, it seems I was much sillier than the girls with whom I thought I did not relate.

Ceirnan is lucky.  She lives in a world where, if validated, she can be a strong amazing woman and still embrace her femininity.  I want her to have that- if she wants it.  I know that I still struggle with this on a daily basis.  It's only been in the past few years, thanks to an amazing friend, where I really think I've begun to understand that.  Does this mean I'm not going to try to shield her from the hypersexualization and generalizations that society still holds for women and girls?  Of course not!  I want her to understand that these inequities still exist and that she will be fighting them just as all of us do.  However, I want her to the opportunity to try all kinds of things without having to equate them to a boys thing or a girls thing.   She can ride a bike, play baseball, and serve tea to her huge collection of babies if she would like. And yes, she owns a lot of high heels and princess dresses, but if you ask her about princesses the first thing she will likely say is that princess are smart.  We like to make up our own princess stories where the princess saves herself. 


For her brother this means, he can have his nails painted and put on a princess hat or carry a purse if he wants.  For Ceirnan, it means saying baby as one of her first words, but saying Varoom (for her cars) and Hi Ya! (for karate chop) quickly there after.  It means that both of them can grow up knowing that they are beautiful, smart, and confident.  It means allowing her to teach her old Mama a thing or two about accepting yourself.  Gender neutrality does not need to mean a complete role reversal or a denial of what makes an individual special.  It means that all children should have the opportunity to learn, grow, love who they want, and be exposed to all kinds of activities to find their passions.

A year after I wrote most of this and I must say I love raising a daughter.  I was so scared when I found out she was a girl.  I was worried we wouldn't relate.  I was worried I wouldn't know what to say to her or how to help her through all of the challenges that life was going to bring her.  I am still scare to handle those middle school years, the mean girls at school (and make sure she's not one of them), dating, heartbreak, sex, all of those things that break you down a bit while you are growing up.  I want to be a good role model for her and make sure that she understands her worth.  I want that bright smile to keep glowing. 

This is kind of rambling.  I will follow up more with our stance on gender neutrality in the next post.

Extended Breastfeeding

Okay...so I'm coming out with it. I know this particular issue is one that gets people talking and one that most people do not understand. I participate in extended breastfeeding. Ceirnan is 28 months old and she still nurses. Yes, she can talk and usually signals that she's ready to go to sleep by saying, "Mama, I want to nurse." Yes, I was one of those people who used to say that a child who can ask to nurse is too old to be doing it. Yes, when I went to the breastfeeding class, I, and almost all the other pregnant ladies in the room, called the trainer crazy. And yes, there are times when even I think it might be a little creepy. There I said it. However, I am glad that I am trying the self-weaning method at least for now.

The World Health Organization recommends breastfeeding for two years or beyond. That is why I knew I wanted to breastfeed my kids for at least two years. I didn't really think I would do it that long though. I figured once the kids started eating regular food, they'd lose interest. Neither one ever did. I know that there are benefits to allowing them to breastfeed longer. With CJ, I waited until he was about 26 months and then just stopped it one night. No warning for him. Little warning for myself. I just said he's old enough to stop now. What made that day different from the day before I do not know, however. He cried for a few nights and it broke my heart, but he survived and so did I.

With Ceirnan, I thought for sure she'd give it up. She's so active and not one who ever wants to go to sleep. Here we are at 28 months though and her nursing time is her favorite part of the day. I think it's partly because it's Mama and Ceirnan time. She gets me alone. I notice this the most when we are in big groups and she grows tired of all the noise. She's whisper in my ear, "I want to nurse." Well, this made me start reading more about extended breastfeeding and approaches to weaning. I started to think that the self-weaning method makes a lot of sense. Why did I up and tell CJ that one day he was my little boy and the next day he was a big boy and couldn't do this anymore? We didn't potty train him like that. We got him used to the idea of the potty and told him (essentially) to follow his bodies cues. It made me realize that it doesn't make any sense to force Ceirnan to stop feeding if she likes it and it's not hurting her.

I also started to look at research that shows breastfeeding for longer does provide benefits for children. Benefits include reduced risks for ear infections, better vision, decreased risk in diseases such as diabetes, heart disease, and central nervous system degenerative disorders. It also shows that children who are breastfed longer are more likely to be smarter. (See Dr. Sears article) A professor, Kathryn Dettwyler, who happens to teach here at UD, is an expert on breastfeeding and her research shows that children will naturally wean between 2 1/2 to 7. The research has been fascinating to read. What is more fascinating to me is how few women actually breastfeed. According to the CDC, only 14.8% of women are exclusively breastfeeding at 6 months and only 23.8% of women are breastfeeding at all at 12 months. There is lots of research out there and I am fascinated by the subject. I am particularly interested in why American women choose not to breastfeed at such high rates.

Okay, so am I going to let Ceirnan (or my future children) breastfeed until 7? No, not likely, but I don't see anything wrong with her feeding for a while longer. In fact, I believe I am providing her with beneficial nutrients to support her growth and greatly needed emotional support to help her be independent.

Baby-wearing Mama

I am a baby-wearing, extended breastfeeding, co-sleeping, bed-sharing, redirecting, positive parenting, gender-neutral encouraging, child empowering, human respecting, Mama. When I look at those titles I see them as positive things, but I know (and have heard from) many people who seem to think that by choosing to parent in this way, I am somehow going to hurt my children or stunt their emotional growth or be an overprotective parent.

I find these people to completely misunderstand the style of parenting that I embrace. Take discipline for example. When I allow my children to make their own decisions (about the little things) good or bad, they learn independence. We often ask our kids, “do you want to make a good choice or a bad choice (and truthfully, I would even change the word “bad” to another one if I had thought of that early on)?” when it comes to a situation in which their behavior is not stellar. For instance, if my two-year-old is ready to throw a fit rather than start yelling (although that does happen on occasion), I try to redirect her to something that will give her back some control. If she continues, she gets the question. The question then gives her back some sense of control. I am not telling her to behave herself. I am giving her the choice to make the best decision for herself in the given situation. Another question we often ask is do you want to (insert whatever I am trying to get her to do) or do you want to go to the naughty chair? Sometimes she makes the decision to pull herself together and sometimes she chooses to go to the naughty chair (and do whatever behavior we asked her not to do). Why? Why take this much time to deal with the situation? Why not just swat her or put her in her room or yell at her or tell her to shut up? Well, because those things do not teach her to own up to her choices. They only teach her that Mama (or Daddy) is bigger and has more power than she does over her life.

What I find interesting is that I have had people think that this method is too “soft” on them. People have sometimes tried to jump in to correct them while I am using the method to hurry the process along or because they feel children should not be allowed to make those decisions. It really puts me in a strange place and gets my defenses up. I believe it takes a village to raise a child, but sometimes the Mama Mayor (or Daddy Mayor or co-Mayors) need to be in charge. I am a good Mama. My children are good children. However, they are children. They don’t always know the rules. They don’t always know their limits. They don’t always want to be reminded that they are only 5 or 2. I’d rather have them maintain some control over their lives than to correct them on every small detail that will work itself out as they grow a bit older. Moreover, I usually try to ask myself is this behavior that needs to be corrected at all? Is it hurting my child? Could it hurt them or anyone else? Is it something that they should not be doing in another context (school for instance)? If none of those things are happening, I try to evaluate why it is bothering me? For instance, can my son have his nails painted or carry a purse if he wants? Sure. None of that hurts anyone. He’ll either grow out of it or embrace it, but either way it will be his decision. Will I let him wear something that is massively offensive to others (shirts with curse words) when he gets older, probably not, because part of claiming respect for yourself is respecting others as well.

I am not sure if anyone is going to be interested, but I am going to start exploring some of these aspects on this blog- mostly as a way for me to understand how I got here and to share an “alternate” way to parent. (I had no idea that I was “alternative” until I saw a special on TV that labeled a lot of our practices as such.) I also think it would be nice to share these thoughts with my children when they decide to become parents.

Back Again

I decided that I would like to start blogging here again. Sometimes it feels weird to keep two blogs going at once, but our other blog is really meant to be an update on the kids. It's purpose seems different to me so I often feel strange talking about specific issues or questions I have. I think I would like to keep it mainly for those cute updates and use this spot for my thoughts, questions, etc.

I guess what has inspired me to start this again is the lack of another suitable outlet. I, like many moms (and dads) I think, do not have a regular set of friends that I run with on a normal basis. We live far away from family and while we have some good friends here they are faced with same hectic schedules and lack of sleep that we are faced with each week. I am guessing a lot of parents feel this way. I use Facebook to reconnect with friends who are also raising children, but it would be nice to have a few girlfriends to hang out with on a regular basis. Life is also different out here. I never realized how much I missed my roots until my kids started to get a bit bigger. It's like my thought processes do not match those around me anymore. It leaves us feeling isolated even though there are lots of individuals that I like.

I think the thing I want to stress the most before I start blogging is that this is only my (or my and Case's) way of parenting. I never want anyone to think that I am looking down on or questioning how they parent their children. Everyone is different, but I think if we can share tips and thoughts we might be able to save each other a lot of headache and heartache as we try to mentor this beautiful babies into amazing adults.

Kindergarten

The kindergarten search begins. I never could have imagined how much work it would be to figure out where to send my kid to school. The No Child Left Behind Act coupled with a brief stint as a substitute teacher has made me really consider whether or not public school is a good option. Add this to the fact that CJ will be a "young" kindergartner and there is so much research out there on how negatively this can impact boys and you have one confused Mama.

I feel like this is our first big test. This is the really the first big decision that we could royally screw up. It's intimidating. Do we delay kindergarten even though his teacher's say he's clearly smart enough for kindergarten? The issue isn't about smarts, it's about socialization and the ability to focus as well as his peers that are almost a whole year ahead of him. Do we just send him to the local public school because it's kindergarten and how bad can it really go? Can we get him into the kindergarten that I love? If we do get him in, can we afford to pay for it? Are we complete idiots for paying a fortune to send a kid to kindergarten? Should we do the local charter school even though the pictures make the kids look like little soldiers?

I'm feeling very stressed about the process. We're trying to take it one step at a time. We've visited our first school (the one I absolutely love) last weekend. There are some drawbacks, but I met the teacher and it really looks good. CJ liked it. We'll need a scholarship for him to attend that school though. I've made a list of about 6 schools for us to check out. Hopefully, we'll find several that feel right. Then we can look at the financial aspects. I'm beginning to think maybe I should go into corporate law just so that I can have the kind of money it takes to send CJ to a school I really like. It's amazing. I always thought that more time was more important than more money. I hope that is really true.

There's A Black One...

So...it's finally come up. The issue of race has hit our house. It's come up before, of course. CJ, like any child, has noticed the differences in skin tones and commented on who has brown, orange, peach skin before. Never before has he used the word Black to describe someone though. In fact, more than once I heard him correct someone who said a person had black skin..."It's brown not black...you are so silly." This morning though I'm doing a video on Exercise TV and he blurts it out...There's a black one. What? Where do you learn that? It's not like he used a bad word, but it's clear that the meaning had changed in his head. I don't know why or how. I quickly said something like "what do you think of him?" This was in an attempt to figure out where he heard it or if something had been said to him in a negative way. His response was "He looks cool." I let it go.

Now I am on the computer trying to locate information on how to teach my 4-year-old about race. I am feeling good about the positive steps we've made. CJ is exposed to diverse groups of people (although not as diverse as I would like) and we do take him to cultural events all the time. Many of his books are multicultural and many of his favorite shows are multicultural. That's great. I'm glad we can bring all of the positive images and experiences to him. I just don't know how to teach him the history and how to negate the negative images and stereotypes that he injests on a daily basis on TV and out and about around town. Is it appropriate to start explaining it to him now? I think it is. I don't believe in the "we're all the same" mentality because we are not all the same. I want him to know and understand (at the appropriate level for his age) that society isn't set up on an even playing field and that individuals face all kinds of different barriers (not just racial). Most importantly, I want him to understand that it's our responsibility to help lower those barriers not only for ourselves, but for other individuals as well.

If anyone has any great resources on the subject of teaching children about race, can you please forward me the titles? I am guessing that Ronald Takiki is a bit advanced, but simply putting on his favorite Little Bill episodes is probably not advanced enough at this point.