Mommy is in Timeout

As I sat alone on the bus with my freshman English class, I glanced down at the children’s short story in my hands. I was proud of my writing as I flipped through it one last time. I couldn’t wait to read it to the preschooler I was paired up with for this field trip.

I made sure the illustrations were all filled in with colored pencil. I double checked that everything I wanted was on those sheets of stapled paper. I read my words over and over, trying my best to memorize them.

I glanced up and scanned everyone on the bus. I watched them all talk with each other, giggling like the 14 year olds that we were.I didn’t have a friend in the class. I was still the new girl at school. For a freshman girl, that can be a death sentence.

We pulled up to the elementary school. I stepped off bus and walked inside. We were paired up immediately and then sat down at the cafeteria tables. Over pancakes & sausage, I read my story to her.With every turn of the page, she moved a little bit closer to me.

When I finished, she gave me a hug and said “Thank you. I love it.” It was a great moment, but I didn’t realize just how special at the time.

A few minutes later, her preschool teacher walked over to me. She told me that this little girl hadn’t talked in school since she started the prior year. Not a word. Ever. She didn’t talk to her classmates or her teacher. But on that day, she talked to me.

She was deeply scarred. She felt pain that most of us never feel in a lifetime, let alone at the age of 4. She kept to herself most days in class, sometimes not even making eye contact with anyone around her.

I had hoped my words would matter to her. What I didn’t anticipate, was how much her words would matter to me.I wrote her a story but that day her reaction helped write my story. Those five words – “Thank you. I love it.” – sparked something inside and pointed me down the career path I walk today.

This post was linked up with The Red Dress Club. The prompt was to showa particular moment that defines you.

It took all the courage I could muster to get up on that exam table. I lifted myself and sat near the edge of the table, with Charlie right at my side. My lap was draped with what doctor’s offices somehow consider to be a comfortable, covering material.

My hands were clutching the white paper that lay underneath of me.The nurse took my blood pressure and then listened to my lungs. Letting deep breaths in and out for her was the first time I actually concentrated on something other than this situation all morning. It was a bit of a strange relief.

My doctor walked in and asked me to lay down. As she began the exam, I turned my head toward the window. The blinds were barely cracked, but I found a small hole that let me peek outside. I watched the rain pour down on the burnt orange and yellow leaves on that gloomy fall morning.I was determined to do anything I could to avoid looking at that monitor. I kept thinking to myself if I don’t look, it won’t happen.

Gazing out the window allowed me to stay in my state of denial.I rolled my head to my left and looked toward my husband. As I turned, he instinctively squeezed my hand tighter. I felt the tears start to stream down my temples, then into my hair.

A few minutes into the exam, the doctor still hadn’t said a word. This was a moment where I knew silence wasn’t a good thing.My doctor removed the device and held her hand out to help me sit up. She confirmed what I already knew.

It was 8 weeks and there was still no heartbeat. The baby was gone.I sat there on that table while everyone else in the room faded away. I couldn’t hear or see my husband or doctor. It was just me with my thoughts. All the moments from this 8 week pregnancy started flashing at rapid speed…

Back to when I first found out about this pregnancy and how initially I wasn’t excited. Back to the guilt I felt for having these thoughts. Why after 19 months of trying for our first son, didn’t I welcome a surprise. I didn’t have to check my basal body temperature this time. There were no trips to the fertility doctor.

Back to how I picked LJ up out of his crib one night and rocked him while he slept. Telling him how sorry I was that this happened so soon. That I didn’t give him more time just for just the 3 of us.

Back to how I was in such shock & denial, I told my husband in the most non-chalant, cold way. I blurted it out as I walked out the door to a Madonna concert. I treated it just like any other order I constantly bark at him. We need milk, oh and by the way, I’m pregnant.

Back to how my initial sadness & fear quickly faded away. And then the pregnancy began to fade as well.Back to how I blamed myself for causing the bleeding. It was my karma due to my negative reactions.

Somewhere in this haze my doctor told us she would leave the room to give us a few moments. The poor thing. I could tell she was nervous. She was fresh out of medical school and this was the first miscarriage she’d ever had to discuss with a patient.

I was begging, tugging on my husbands shirt, for him to make it comeback. Make there be a heartbeat. I knew by the look in his eyes that if there was something he could do, he would’ve made it happen.

I didn’t want to get off this table and leave the room. I’d have to tell my mom that the baby was no longer. I’d have to go home and wait for it to naturally pass. I’d have to tell my son, who I held just last week whispering in his ear that he’d be a big brother, that it wasn’t going to happen right now.

In this room I didn’t have to face anyone. I didn’t have to explain what had happened. We were protected. We could mourn. It took all the courage I could muster to get down from  that exam table.

This post was linked up with The Red Dress Club. The prompt was to giveyour readers a snapshot of a room from your past.

It was an unseasonably humid day in September. Bright & sunny with puffy white clouds floating around in the sky.  As I looked out my second floor window I saw a few dark clouds looming in the distance. I immediately began to panic. I wished that I could’ve opened the window and just blown them away.

I took a deep breath and said a silent prayer that they would pass us by. I wanted to get my mind off of the weather, so I changed the direction of my eyes and looked down at the courtyard below.White folded chairs sat on the grass as people were taking their seats. Guests were walking under the archway covered in greenery & flowers that I had helped my dad finish just 2 hours ago. Silver buckets lined the aisles filled with flowers that my dad arranged with roses, gerbera daisies and, much to my dismay, baby’s breath. The trees were swaying in the wind, providing shade to the garden area.

This was our wedding day. In moments, I’d walk down the stairs from my bridal suite and enter that courtyard. Everything was ready. The minister was under the trellis. Even the groom was here (Charlie had conveniently missed our rehearsal) and was dressed in a tux with his “lucky” shoes.

I turned from the window for a moment to take one last look in the mirror. I repositioned my veil, for what seemed like the 127th time. I took my glove off and ran my fingers across my pearl choker. I looked at my engagement ring on my finger, thinking back on the past 28 months. The moments that led up to this day.

I reached down to the table by my side and grabbed my bouquet and hand written vows. I held each note card up one-by-one. Silently reading them to myself. Making sure everything I wanted to say was in there.I started to walk toward the door. I was ready.

I took one last look towards the window and realized Mother Nature had other ideas. The rain was coming down in sheets. I ran to the window.  Everyone was jumping up from their seats, looking for shelter. My eyes immediately filled with water. I thought to myself why did we choose an outdoor wedding.

Right at that moment of doubt, it stopped.The chairs were dried as quickly as possible. Guests reluctantly went back to their seats, looking all around the sky to make sure it wasn’t going to happen again. Everyone was back in their assigned places.

I walked down the stairs. I headed down that aisle. The wet grass under my feet, brushing up against the hem of my dress. The slight mist in the air with the sun peaking through creating a rainbow in the distance. A few drops of rain, well sheets really, and panic could never have ruined that moment. I would’ve walked under it and crawled through mud to get to Charlie. I could see what was to come. Making a life with my best friend. My new husband. The father of my kids. Our family of four.

This post was linked up over at The Red Dress Club. The prompt was to imagine after you have died your daughter/son would be given the gift of seeing a single five-minute period of your life through your eyes.