You know how when you have a newborn baby, the poopy diapers are endless? I remember thinking when Lucie was a baby, 'If I have to change another poopy diaper, I'm going to lose it!' The amounts of diapers, laundry, burp cloths, and mess you clean up seems daunting.
I am at the mall and notice a young mother with her baby girl. I gaze at the baby's dark curls on top of her head, and the big flower headband resting on top of those curls. She has long precious eyelashes that touch her rosy cheeks as she blinks up at her mama.
I am getting choked up and start to walk away when suddenly I hear the mother say in a frustrated voice, "Seriously?? Another diaper?" She bustles over to the mother's lounge with a look of anger.
This experience got me thinking about how I was with Lucie. The everyday monotony of taking care of a baby is hard, there's no doubt about it.
But as soon as it's taken away from you, you would give anything to change a diaper. The thought of being up at night with them in their room is inviting, not overwhelming. You find that you want laundry to do, you want spit up on your shoulder, you want binkies, rattles, and toys to pick up off the floor.
When we have our next baby, I'm going to try my hardest to cherish every moment, not just the rosy ones. As soon as I find myself wishing the dirty diapers will stop, I'll remember what it's like when they do.
Two years ago today, I gave birth to my sweet baby boy Sam. Here is his story.
It's June 8th, 2011.
The morning rays travel through my bedroom window and I slowly wake from my sleepy state. I stretch and slowly push myself to a sitting position. Whew. This belly is already bulging. I place a hand there and think of the miracle growing inside me. I'm already in love.
I suddenly miss Tyler. My children and I have been on vacation at my Mom and Dad's house in Utah for five days. Two more to go.
Nature calls and I walk down the hall as quietly as I can. Lucie and Brigham are still sleeping and I intend to keep it that way.
As I finish in the bathroom, I look down and notice blood.
Blood.
My heart skips a beat as I sit staring. My mind can't comprehend what this might mean. Immediately, my mind floods with words of denial. They say this is normal. It's only a little bit. I knew a girl who bled farther along.
I shake myself out of my trance and force my legs up the stairs.
"Mom"! I call out.
She comes down and we sit on the couch. I tell her about the blood. I look at her with a strong face and say, "I'm sure it's nothing, but maybe I should go in just to be sure. You know, peace of mind."
She agrees so we head to the hospital.
My mother-in-law meets us in the parking lot and takes my children for me. She is very sweet and understanding.
We go into labor and delivery and check in. The nurse comes out and leads us to a private room. I lay back and she put warm gel on my round belly. As I wait for her to start, my palms start sweating. I say a quick prayer as she places the doppler. After a few minutes of patiently searching, she can't find a heartbeat.
"Odd," she says.
My heart drops as she exits the room. They decide to do a full ultrasound.
I am led to a different room and the ultrasound technician enters. She is about eight months along and has the "pregnancy glow". My heart drops a little further.
As I lay on my back, my eyes focus on the ceiling. I can't look at the monitor. I can't see what my heart already knows. I glance over at my mom and see devastation written there.
And my heart drops even further.
The next few minutes are a blur and somehow I end up back in the first room. A doctor comes in and says, "Your baby is gone. We can start delivery immediately if you'd like. Take your time deciding."
He exits with a solemn look and says he's sorry.
I continue to sit for what seems like an eternity. How can my baby be gone? I passed the 12 week mark and they told me I was safe. I am 21 weeks. They are delivering and saving babies just a few weeks after mine. What now? How am I going to call Tyler? What do we tell the kids? Do I get an epidural? Do they induce me? Will we bury him?
The questions continue circling my mind and I suddenly break down.
My body shakes as I sob and hold my belly. My mom stands by my side and offers support.
No, no, no. This is all a bad nightmare.
I call Tyler and tell him the news. He takes it pretty good but he can tell I'm struggling. We both decide it would be best for me to fly home to Washington and deliver our baby there, together.
So that's what I do. The next day, I fly home with my mom, visit my doctor, and schedule an induction for Monday morning.
Monday.
I'm going to have to wait all weekend knowing I'll be delivering my sweet baby boy, then go home with empty arms. "Heavenly Father," I pray, "Give me the strength I need. Please help me to feel my Savior's arms around me."
On Saturday, my Dad drives out to Washington, the children in tow.
Sunday night, I start bleeding pretty heavily and the contractions begin. After a few hours, it's just too much. The pain is so great, and the emotional pain is even greater.
I call labor and delivery and explain that I have an induction scheduled for the morning, but that I'm starting to labor. They tell me to come in.
So Tyler and I pack my hospital bag and head out the door. The short drive to the hospital seems like an eternity. I keep one hand in Tyler's, and the other on my contracting belly. Tears stream down my face as I think about what is to come.
We arrive and check in. The nurse at the main desk is abrupt and short. I start crying again as we head down the hall toward my delivery room.
I don't want to do this. I can't do this. I can't push my baby out knowing he's not going to be alive. But I don't have a choice. I take a deep breath and enter.
I change into my hospital gown and get as comfortable as I can on the bed. Tyler holds my hand as they put in the IV and start me on pitocin.
Now for the waiting game.
They tell me to try and rest. Tyler pulls the couch bed next to mine. I need him close. I lay there as the contractions start getting stronger and stronger. I push the button for the nurse and tell her I need something for the pain.
She comes in and puts something into my IV and the pain lessens. She explains that because my baby is already gone, they can put pain medication through the IV because there's no risk to the baby.
She checks me to mark my progess, then exits. I glance over at Tyler and he gives me an encouraging nod. He has tired eyes so I tell him to get some sleep. After all, it is two in the morning.
I lay there for hours. Not asleep, but not awake either. I'm not really aware of much and I feel totally numb. Except for the pain of the coming and going of contractions.
After what feels like an eternity, a nurse comes in and checks me again. Another nurse comes in and repeats the process. They call in the doctor and she checks me for a third time. I'm ready, they say.
But no one can ever be ready for this.
They are very gentle and sympathetic as they give me instructions to push.
I feel myself breaking down and I don't think I can do this. I want so much to be anywhere, ANYWHERE but here in this moment. Tyler grabs hold of my hand and kisses my forehead. And suddenly, I am given a strength that is not my own.
After pushing for several minutes, my tiny precious boy is born. The nurses clean him off, wrap him in a blanket, and gently place him in my waiting arms.
My baby. My tiny little Sam.
We spend a few hours holding him, counting toes, and taking pictures. It is surreal and precious and I don't want to think about tomorrow. Or the next hour.
The nurse comes in and asks if we are ready. She can tell I'm struggling so she quickly says, "He'll be right down the hall in the nursery when you want to hold him again."
Relieved, I place him softly in her arms.
The drugs they've given me finally take over and I fall asleep.
But I don't stay asleep for long.
I wake a few hours later and feel intense pressure in my breasts. I look down and realize my milk in starting to come in.
My milk.
I suddenly feel an overwhelming ache for my baby. I hear other babies crying down the hall, and the ache deepens. Every part of my body and soul longs for him.
Tyler helps me wrap myself with a few ace bandages. They say this helps lessen the milk production. But I can't tell much of a difference from how it was with my other children.
After another hour or so, I ask the nurse to bring Sam back into our room. Once again, she tenderly places him in my arms. We take a few more pictures and say our goodbyes. I cry and lovingly touch his little fingers. After a few more hours, we finally tell the nurse we are ready. She picks him up and I watch as my Sam is taken from the room.
Oh my heart.
I wrap my arms around Tyler and feel an emptiness I've never known. How will I do this? My heart is breaking.
As we pack up and leave the hospital the next day, I fall into a numb state. I continue in this state for a few days.
I'm on survival mode.
I eat, sleep, take care of the kid's needs, change my ace bandages, and sleep some more.
One night, I am in desperate need of comfort. I open my scriptures and read in Doctrine and Covenants 84:88. The last part of the verse hits me:
"And my Spirit shall be in your hearts, and mine angels round about you, to bear you up."
I suddenly have a profound impression that my Savior is very aware of me and what I am going through. Not only Him, but His angels, including my little brother, are helping me through this! All at once, my grief is replaced with hope. Hope for the future. Hope that I'll be with my Sam again. Hope that somehow through my faith in the Savior, He will make everything right. I've known these things my whole life.
The peace I feel lasts the rest of the day. And it's just enough.
I know I'll be with my Sam again. Our Savior has made this possible. I can't wait to meet Him, to fall at His feet and thank Him for His love and for everything He does for me.
He is my rock and my redeemer.
Helaman 5:12
And now, my sons, remember, remember that it is upon the rock of our Redeemer, who is Christ,
the Son of God, that ye must build your foundation; that when the devil shall send forth his
mighty winds, yea, his shafts in the whirlwind, yea, when all his hail and his might storm shall beat upon you, it shall have no power over you to drag you down to the gulf of misery and
endless wo, because of the rock upon which ye are built, which is a sure foundation, a foundation whereon if men build they cannot fall.
How is it anyone gets through something like this?
Someone once said to me, "I could never lose a child. I don't know how you get through it."
The truth? "I" don't get through it. It's impossible. The Savior is the one who carries me to the other side of this fire.
I'm sure you've heard of the "refiner's fire", but what is that exactly?
I came across a wonderful story.
"There was a group of women in a Bible study on the book of Malachi. As they were studying chapter three, they came across verse three which says: "He will sit as a refiner and purifier of silver." (Malachi 3:3) This verse puzzled the women and they wondered what this statement meant about the character and nature of God.
One of the women offered to find out about the process of refining silver and get back to the group at their next Bible study. That week this woman called up a silver smith and made an appointment to watch him at work. She didn't mention anything about the reason for her interest in silver beyond her curiosity about the process of refining silver. As she watched the silver smith, he held a piece of silver over the fire and let it heat up. He explained that in refining silver, one needed to hold the silver in the middle of the fire where the flames were hottest as to burn away all the impurities. The woman thought about God holding us in such a hot spot--then she thought again about the verse, that he sits as a refiner and purifier of silver.
She asked the silver smith if it was true that he had to sit there in front of the fire the whole time the silver was being refined. The man answered that yes, he not only had to sit there holding the silver, but he had to keep his eyes on the silver the entire time it was in the fire. If the silver was left even a moment too long in the flames, it would be destroyed. The woman was silent for a moment. Then she asked the silver smith, "How do you know when the silver is fully refined?"
He smiled at her and answered, "Oh, that's easy--when I see my image in it."
-Author Unknown
As much as this fire hurts, I do believe it is making me a better person. Some days it burns so deep, I wonder when the Refiner will say, "This is enough." I don't think it will happen for a very long time.
All I can do is continue to have unconditional faith in my Savior and trust Him completely. I think the words, "I surrender" are becoming a daily phrase for me.
And I do surrender, completely. I surrender to my Refiner as He constantly watches and holds me. I trust that only He knows when I can be taken out of this fire.
