Mother's Day

And so we sit, me at the computer and Randy killing dirty commies at the end of my first Mother's Day with babes in my arms. Technically, it's my second Mother's Day and since I've been thinking of her all day, I'm going to write about my first little girl, Adi.

I first found out I was pregnant the day after we got back from Mexico City in Oct. 2007. We were extremely excited since we'd just started trying a month earlier. In our excitement we were able to wait only three weeks (making it the fourth week) before we started telling everyone. And I do mean everyone. People at our parish, our family, co-workers, friends, etc. So much joy in our lives because of this pregnancy.

I was very careful and ate exactly as my pregnancy said to. I exercised exactly as I read. I did everything by the book. And then Dec. 3rd we had Randy's confirmation Mass and dinner afterwards with the Bishop. I began spotting during the mass and halfway through dinner I was definitely bleeding. We made our excuses and listened to congratulations from the bishop as fear gripped my heart about the life growing in me.

We called the nurse hotline; I had no cramps, so things should be fine. I made it through the night, barely. The next day was much the same. Bleeding, but otherwise ok. Then, that night after dinner the cramps started. And I began bawling.

First thing the next morning they had me and Randy come in for an ultrasound. I was at the eight week mark. While there I used the restroom and passed a huge amount of tissue. Gripping a rosary in my hand Randy and I waited, hands clutched, until the doctor came in. I vaguely remember hearing the sounds 'empty sac' and 'spontaneous abortion'. Even now, my heart is clenching in rememberance of the hurt we experienced.

They gave us a packet of info on miscarriage and sent us to the lab for a blood draw. We were both crying tears openly as we sat there, trying to process the loss of the pregnancy. The one bright point was the stupid song 'Drummer Boy' - the version with Bing Crosby and David Bowie started playing while we were waiting.

On our way home I told Randy to pack up all the baby books and magazines and etc. that were in the house. I couldn't deal with looking at any of it just then. We picked up lunch and headed home, calling our families and employers. Those were some of the hardest phone calls I've ever made.

Slowly, the weeks went by and my bleeding let up. In the brochures they'd given me there was a suggestion to assign a gender and name to the baby to help us heal. I thought that sounded like a bunch of heeby jeeby bullshit. Instead, I focused on getting better and not stressing out too much about getting pregnant again.

But I kept bleeding. For two months I had intermittent spotting. The night before I was going to go in to the doctor for further help I found the baby's body. It had, beyond all likelihood, stayed in me for the past two months, but there she was.

In that instant, as my strangled voice called out to Randy to come quickly, as I held her little inch long body, I knew, certain as I had ever been about anything, that this was my daughter. She was mostly a dark red blob, with tiny arms, legs, and tail. The doctor said she'd had stopped developing around six weeks. But there she was, in my hand.

We immediately called our priest, wondering just what the hell we were supposed to do next. He recommended we call our doctor the following morning but, for the time being, say a prayer over her body. We did. And we saw the doctor and made arrangements for her tiny body to be buried with all the other miscarried and stillborn babies at the cemetary during one of the twice-annual services our hospital has.

I had also been in counseling for grief at this point, too, but the closure I received at having held my daughter was cleansing and I felt brand new again. I chose the name Adi because it is sanskrit for 'first'. First of many, I am now sure.

I felt weird at the time, assigning a gender and name to my daughter, but in the moment, it seemed the most natural thing to do. As a Catholic I am, of course, raised to believe that life begins at conception and therefore worthy of protection and love. And while I have always believed it, I had never truly KNOWN it until that night I held Adi in my hand.

And so, today, as I stood for the blessing at Mass, and as I received my gift from my girls, I reflected on how my first girl, whom I never met in person, is just as beloved as my twins. Being a mother is already the most amazing thing I have done, and I know I've barely started.

Rather a maudlin post for Mother's Day, but Adi is never far from my thoughts, and she has been most present today of all days. I love my daughters.