Yes, At Least My Baby Was Healthy

I have so much to say about this...but I need time to organize my thoughts. In the meanwhile, please read. I have been here. It is a dark place.

I have copied this article, in its entirety, from http://wholewoman.hubgarden.com/you-are-not-crazy-you-are-traumatised/

It was written by Meggf - her profile can be viewed here: http://wholewoman.hubgarden.com/profile/22412/

It has been 4 years since Angelina's traumatic entrance into this world. I'm still not over it.

Gaslighting is a term used to describe a form of emotional abuse where the victim is gradually convinced that their perception is wrong. It leaves its victims doubting their sanity. The term originated from a 1939 play and 1944 movie, where a man tried to make his wife believe that she was crazy by having the lights flicker and denying the flickering. He wanted her to be committed to an asylum so that he would inherit her fortune. 

Image Courtesy of morgueFile free images

Although the movie is long forgotten, the term gaslighting is growing in popularity, with more people exposing it’s insidious impact on relationships, and in particular on the lives of women. There probably isn’t a woman alive who hasn’t experienced some form of gaslighting, but gaslighting in relation to birth trauma or grief is an important issue that has not been considered. 

Whenever a woman is told to focus on her healthy baby], when she is told that it doesn’t matter how the baby gets here, when someone flippantly remarks that they had a similar experience but weren’t traumatised, when women are told that doctors / midwives / nurses would never do anything to hurt them or anything unnecessary, it is gaslighting. 

Regardless of the intention of the person who says it, the effect is the same. it silences the woman and makes her doubt her perceptions. 

When they say “At least you got a healthy baby", a traumatised woman hears ”There’s something wrong with you, you shouldn’t be concerned about yourself, you are selfish, you don’t love your baby enough!” 

When they say “But I loved my caesarean!” a traumatised woman hears ”You’re just a whinger, there's something wrong with you, you're so weak!” 

When they say ”Doctors would never do anything to harm you” a traumatised woman hears You’re just a liar, your body wasn't working and the doctor cared more about your baby than you because they did everything necessary.” 

Why do we have so much invested in denying women’s feelings about their births? Why do we think that dismissing their feelings will help them feel better? Why are people so uncomfortable listening to women talk about pain and grief? 

Gaslighting in domestic violence leaves women feeling alone and frightened, second guessing their perception of events, it leaves women feeling desperate, and on edge, like they are losing touch with their sanity. Gaslighting for birth trauma can happen in intimate relationships, but it can also happen with friends, family, and random strangers. Some women have even reported professional therapists who have gaslighted them when they sought support for PTSD, PND and / or birth trauma and grief. 

Image Courtesy of morgueFile free images

When a woman is traumatised by her birth it isn’t because she’s crazy, it isn’t because she imagined things that didn’t happen, it isn’t because she’s selfish and disinterested in her baby’s health, it’s because sometimes things don’t go to plan in birth. We seem to have a disconnect between the acknowledgement that things don’t always go to plan, and the fact that this can be traumatic. People expect new mothers to be grateful that they have survived birth, and to make no mention of anything that scared or hurt them during labour. 

Being gaslit is commonplace for many women. Many will never be able to name what is happening to them because this method of abuse is only just surfacing for public discourse. That's dangerous enough, but owing to the fact that the single biggest killer of new mothers is suicide, gaslighting has a whole other element of danger for women who are traumatised by birth. 

As gaslighting is gaining attention through the slow increase in social awareness about domestic violence, so is birth trauma. Both are inching closer and closer to daylight, neither fast enough for many women, but sometimes simply knowing they are not alone makes a difference. Support groups are springing up across the internet, and many are meeting face to face around the world. 

If you have experienced birth trauma gaslighting please know that you are NOT alone, and there are people out there who know just how much you love your baby, people who believe your birth story, and many many women who have stories that traumatised them, as yours traumatised you. You are NOT crazy, you are grieving, and you are traumatised, but YOU ARE NOT CRAZY. Perhaps the people who think birth doesn’t matter are the crazy ones. 
- See more at: http://wholewoman.hubgarden.com/you-are-not-crazy-you-are-traumatised/#sthash.OJwoWbpl.dpuf

The Angel Turns 4

4.

She is 4.

Angelina Francesca, my baby, is no longer a baby.

I am not entirely sure how this happened - as I don't feel like I have aged four years since her birth. But, it is true. In just a few short hours, my Angelina will be four. In honor of her birthday, here is a letter to my Angel:

Dearest, sweetest Angelina -

Earlier today, I had the shear pleasure of watching you jump on trampolines with 20 of your "best friends," the children from your school who now get to see you more than I do. I watched you laugh and smile, and the excitement on your sweet face when you blew out your candle made my heart swell and my eyes fill with tears.

Then I had to laugh when you answered the door for Elsa. I, of course, was teary-eyed in anticipation of you meeting your treasured princess. You, in your oh-so-Angelina-esque way, simply turned around to your paparazzi and said "Hey! Elsa's here." So matter-of-factly! She could have just been the mailman! But then, you believed in your heart that Elsa would be here - because you asked me to invite her and you had a faith in me that was unshakable. I knew your little heart was racing though - I could see your excitement in the way you reverently held Elsa's hand as you walked her through the house and introduced her to your family and friends. ("Elsa - this is my grandmother, Nonna. Nonna, this is Elsa...Elsa...this is my mom, Kris. Mommy, this is Elsa...") I could have watched you all day.

It was a very Frozen birthday, for you. In truth, I am a little sick of all things Frozen. (Though I am thrilled with the amount of "ice blue" clothing that is now in your wardrobe...) You, my little darling, are far from being "over" your Frozen craze.

Angelina, the moment of your birth was quite amazing. Born just hours before your scheduled c-section (you didn't want to wait until 7:45am...but I wanted to wait until January 4th...this would be just our first battle of wills...), I just couldn't get over the beautiful sound of your first cries. They were so musical! Like little bells. Your cries were the most amazing sound I had ever heard. I even asked Daddy "is that her cry?" I couldn't get over them. At four, I am less amazed by the sound of your cry...but I could listen to you laugh all day! And, my littlest Love, we laugh often.

I am rarely prepared for the outbursts of your larger-than-life personality. Day-day has told me that you are me...all 35 years of my personality in one little 4-year-old body. I don't disagree. You are my mini-me, both physically and in personality. I can't get mad when you get sassy...as it is my very own words and inflections that you are spitting back out to me.

You are funny! So funny! Naturally goofy. And just a joy to be around. Just like your mother, your mood can turn on a dime and the beast in you is unleashed...but only for a moment and then you are back to all charms and sweetness. You only just recently started up with some fantastic temper tantrums. Feet kicking the floor and all! I can't help but laugh. I know you are trying to get a point across, but your methods are hilarious!

While it can be trying and troublesome at times, as a parent, I love that you have become the lawyer of the house. "Mom. You the parent but you can't tell her what to do." Uh...yes...yes, I can. "Mom. You not the boss of me." Yup. I am. You are wrong again! Just this week I was sticking your brother in time out for taking a toy away from you and as he cried, you negotiated his release.

You are a juxtaposition personified - the all-grown-up baby girl who refuses help when getting dressed but still want her binkie and her "foo-fee" and Fozzie Bear at night. You will ask for your crib back and a new baby in my belly all at the same time. (Don't count on it, kid.) You want nothing more than to be rocked to sleep and held all night...right after you have demonstrated how well you can climb the monkey bars, just like any kid thrice your age. You will call for your binkie when it is out of sight, as though it will answer, and when you find it, you will kiss it hello and give it a greeting that would be fit for a long-lost friend.

Speaking of friend - you have many...and you often describe them as best. "But Mom... she is my best friend!" "Have you seen my best friend?" I just eat it up!

I am tremendously hard-pressed to define which of your many qualities and quirks are my favorite...but a major front runner is how you will cup my face in your little hands to give me a kiss whenever you leave the room. My heart soars when I hear you say, "I love you, Mom." I adore that you say "Miss Macole" instead of Nicole and I lament that you have recently given up "I can't know how" as your reasoning for not cleaning up after yourself. Thankfully, while you seem to want to grow up way too fast for me, you still need that bink, wear "tie-time" undies and go "Nigh-nigh." You still want snuggles, and I hope you never outgrow your need for them.

You love princesses, dressing up, dolls and pretend make-up...and you ask me questions like "when is my penis going to grown in?" You know that body part is called your armpit, yet you have coined them "hippos," and the rest of us have followed suit. (Tickle the hippos! Yes, your hippos are dirty.)

Angelina, my Littlest Love, you came into my life when I needed you the most. You repaired my heart break and gave me a reason for joy. Since your birth, you have challenged me to grow stronger every day, and because of you, I am a better mother, woman and human.

I was asked often why I wanted a third. After all - I had a girl and I had a boy...there were no other options. But I needed an Angel.

Happy Birthday, Rosalicious!

Is my sweet Rosie Girl seriously 8 years old?! How on earth did that happen? When did she get so big? So grown up?

We spent Rosie's birthday weekend welcoming the Christmas season, starting with waiting at the Avenue to watch both Rosie and her sister march in the Annual White Marsh Avenue Parade. Rosie walked behind the float this year - and had such a big, beautiful smile as she threw candy to her brother and friends. It's a parade - nothing serious- but it doesn't take much to bring a tear to my eye! I love watching Rosie, in everything she does. She is just beauty and grace.

My Dearest Rosalicious -

You changed my world before I even saw your beautiful face. From the moment I learned of my pregnancy, I felt you pushing me to be a better person. Nearly 9 years since that moment, you are still my motivation.

You have a sense of justice that is enviable. If everyone could live a little more like you, the world would be a much better place.

 From the time you were 20 months old and had me pick up a rotten, nasty fruit salad from the Babies R Us parking lot (It not nice to litter, Mommy), to encouraging me to be compassionate when it is far from how I feel...every one of our interactions inspires me to be the very best possible version of me. 

You are loved and beloved. The birthday cards from your friends all spoke of your kindness, love and grace - and you exhibit these without even trying. 

Everyone loves my Rosie Girl - and I am so proud to call her my daughter.

The Cutest Little Lump

I had an awesome workout today. A really, really great leg workout. Killed it. Killed it so hard, I could barely walk. I was on a crazy workout high.

Nothing kills a workout high quite as quickly as seeing this:

That is my Littlest Love, Angelina, sound asleep at the top of the climbing structure in the KidZone at the White Marsh Merritt. The staff told me she had been asleep up there for quite some time - which is why I didn't hear her yelling my name during my workout. Her siblings stayed home, which is why she remained undisturbed. She played for a few minutes, climbed up to the top and put herself to sleep.

Fun part for me: after taking my frustrations out on my legs to the point where I could barely walk across the room, I had to climb up to the top to get her! I have never been so grateful to have a slide at my disposal! (Makes me wish I could install a slide in our house instead of steps.)

For the record - this was, indeed, the beginning of a three-day cold for my Angelina. Fever of 103!

Answered Prayers

This morning started like any other school day - I went to the gym, came home, made breakfast and lunch for the kids and then hurried to get us all out the door on time. I was shoving lunches and gloves into bags at the red lights on Bel Air Road when I noticed a note from RJ's teacher that was stapled to his bag. (Notes stapled to the canvas bag is the standard communication for the Bridges schools). 

After seeing the kids off to school, I finally took a moment to read the note. What I read brought a tear to my eye and made my heart race.

MY SON IS READING!!

He is two months into kindergarten, so I know what you are thinking: this isn't a big deal. Oh. But it is.

Just a year ago, we were told by those "in the know" that RJ wasn't meeting learning standards and should be "evaluated" for a spectrum disorder. So we went to the public school and demanded an IEP evaluation. We went to KKI and demanded a specialist evaluation. We spent November and December shuffling RJ downtown to meet with Dr. Megan, his "talking doctor" so that she could evaluate him in a variety of different ways and circumstances.

At the end of it all - Dr. Megan told us that we had a perfectly normal and stubborn 5-year-old boy with a beautiful and sweet personality. 

After months of fighting with the God-awful Elmwood Elementary, part of the atrocious Baltimore County School System, they told me that my standards were too high and perhaps I should be a little more realistic.

Ugh.

When The Dictator at The School That Shall Not Be Named changed things up and caused our mass exodus, I worried the most about RJ. Rosie had her teacher for a second year and Angelina had nothing to compare the "new school" to...but RJ...he was attached to his teachers and his friends...what would happen to him?

Well. Now I know what would happen to him. He would flourish. He jumped right in and flourished. He blew me away and even impressed himself in the process.

One of my best days as a parent. Ever. Just incredible.

Spectacular Spectacles

Several weeks ago, our Rosie girl started complaining about headaches. She seemed to come home with a headache every afternoon. She didn't want to read and seemed to be asking for Motrin on a regular basis. She had also been complaining about her teeth hurting - so I wasn't clear as to the cause of her headaches. I just knew that I needed to get to the bottom of them. While at her parent-teacher conferences, I learned that she was really starting to struggle with her reading and didn't seem to have any interest in reading or improving her skills. So I called Dr. Jensen.

Dr. Jensen is the Pediatric Ophthalmologist we saw when Rosie was a baby and complained about eye pain. We also saw her when Angelina's tear ducts were clogged and she needed surgery. This doctor is amazing, so I knew were in good hands. 

After a brief exam with the nurse, I knew my girl was going to need glasses. You could just tell that straight reading with both eyes was a real struggle for her. Sure enough - after being dilated and examined by Dr. Jensen, we had a cause for the headaches: my Rosie Girl is far-sighted in one eye.

I expected tears...or maybe disappointment. Nope. Not this time around. She was beyond thrilled. She had an answer to her problems! Our ride back to school revolved around planning for glasses and wanting to know how soon she could pick them out. 

After school yesterday, we made our way to the Avenue to pick out a pair. Without fail, Rosie picked out the most expensive glasses from each and every section! So was so cute and so excited that I couldn't say no! We walked out with no one but two pairs of designer glasses - one to keep at home and the other to keep at school. 

She is unbelievably excited to read now - both at school and at home. She only needs to wear them for school work or close-viewing activities. She doesn't need to wear them all of the time...so her running round-offs into the room can safely continue! Dr. Jensen expects that she will outgrow her need for glasses within the next few years, definitely before middle school but likely before she hits double digits! 

A Letter to My Baby

 Dear Angelina,

I’m sitting on my bed, typing, and just watching you sleep. I could watch you sleep forever. You are a little girl that is always on the go – never still – except in these nighttime peaceful moments. I selfishly invited you to sleep in my bed tonight. I know that it is your preferred place to slumber, but tonight is not about your preferences. Tonight is about me having one last night with my baby before she officially becomes a big girl.

Tomorrow, you start school.

How did we get here? Where did our time together go? It feels as though just a few minutes have passed since we welcomed you into our world. Baby girl, I didn’t know how much you would change my life for the better.

From the moment I learned of your existence, my world was a better place. You were an Angel, a gift from God at a time when I needed joy the most. Carrying you gave me strength. Your first cries were literally music to my ears – those tiny, baby wails were the most beautiful sounds that I had ever heard. I asked aloud if that was actually your cry.  

Here we are, a few heartbeats later, and my beautiful baby with the amazing cry is about to be a big girl…experiencing something without me. Angelina, I am not ready for this. I am not ready for your baby phase to be over. I have stood by and tolerated all of your milestones – weaning off of nursing, sleeping through the night, learning to walk, finding your voice, leaving your crib and more. I have tried to not panic as you learned to assert yourself and express your opinion. In truth – I have enjoyed each and every stage of your growing even more than the last. But this? This, my little girlfriend, is intolerable.

For whatever reason, I just feel like my heart is breaking. Tomorrow I will drive you up to a school – a beautiful Montessori school – and I will entrust my sweet, funny, charming girl to a group of strangers. Will they just adore you? Everyone does. Will they laugh and be entertained by you? I hope so. You bring so much joy to my life, I can only hope you bring joy to them as well.

I accepted the challenge of motherhood long before you came into my world. I embraced it, knowing that it was my responsibility to teach you, your brother and your sister how to become wonderful, fully-functioning and responsible adults someday. I need to teach you how to be a good, kind person. A loving soul. A good friend. I was completely unprepared for just how much you would teach me.

 
You have taught me to truly appreciate the little things…and be genuinely overjoyed at as many turns as possible. I love watching you open presents. You never seem concerned about what is actually in the box – but you over over-the-moon that someone took the time to give you the box. I have learned that everything in this life can be a beautiful song. Even things that you aren’t so happy about. I have learned the value of being comfortable with alone time. I’ve never been good at being alone. From a very early age, you have been able to entertain yourself happily for hours. Being so comfortable with yourself gives you a whole new appreciation for your friends. You don’t need them. You want them.

 I know that our journey is far from over, my sweet Angelina. My tears are really just silly. You are so ready for this change – you want it. I’m just not ready to accept that the time for this change is now! I am looking forward to learning so much more from you.

Tomorrow? Tomorrow you will walk into school, an excited, ready-to-learn big girl who is about to take on her world and win. Tonight? Tonight you are my baby. And I love you with all of my heart.