You Have to Have Rain to Get a Rainbow

I was tagged by my daughter in a post yesterday. It was about "Rainbow Babies." I had never heard the term. A Rainbow Baby is the baby that is born after the mother has already had a miscarriage. My oldest daughter is a Rainbow Baby. When I first got married, all the way back in 1982, I didn't think I even wanted children. I was very young. I had just turned 19 the week before my wedding, but that wasn't the reason. I was never one of those teens who liked to babysit. I didn't want to work the nursery at church. I was never the one that wanted to hold the newborns of cousins or aunts. Truth be told, I'm still not big on that. I didn't have anything against babies. I wasn't a baby hater. I just didn't find it something I needed to be around. When I had been married about 8 years I started to feel a little differently. Weirdly it was because of a soap opera I was watching called Guiding Light. One of the characters was pregnant, and as I followed her journey, I began to have yearnings of my own. I started to really want to have a baby. My husband had wanted children from about marriage year 3, so he was ready to start. It took me about 6 months to conceive, and in June of 1991 I was in the middle of doing a show and found out I was pregnant. I was over the moon. I bought What to Expect When You're Expecting, the BIBLE for expectant parents, and wrapped it up to give to my husband to tell him we were expecting. We told everyone right away. I told my whole cast, and every person was so excited. We started to make plans, even if only in our minds, and I bought a Baby Book and a first year calendar and started to fill it out with early details of this little one's life. I was a little queasy in the first month but not too bad, tired but not too tired. That could have had something to do with my schedule. Work 9-6, then go straight to the theater to do a show 4 nights a week and 2 shows on most Saturdays, but everything seemed to be going fine. It had been a long Sunday in September, at the end of an already full week with work and shows, we had also had a Sunday Matinee. I felt fine, but I had started to bleed, pretty heavily, and I called the doctor's exchange. My OB was not on call. His partner called me back. I explained what was going on, and he asked me if my OB had heard the heartbeat yet. I said no, and I will never forget his response. "Oh, well, just come in in the morning," he said in a very dismissive tone, as if to say, well, there's nothing we can do. No rush. the baby's already gone. Note here to ANYONE in the medical field who is talking to a pregnant woman who is scared about something going on with her unborn child: No matter what you think is going on, DO NOT DISMISS HER LIKE HER BABY IS ALREADY DEAD! I barely got any sleep that night. I was going in first thing in the morning to my OB to see what was going on. I continued to bleed. My husband had just started a new job and felt he couldn't miss work, so my sweet Daddy, God rest his soul,  took me to the doctor so I wouldn't have to go alone. They did an ultrasound, and I kept asking the poor technician questions. Questions she, of course, could not answer. She was wonderful and sweet. She kept telling me the doctor needed to interpret them and would tell me all about it. It was cold on the examining table. Finally the Ultrasound was done, and I went upstairs to see my doctor. My Daddy waited in the waiting room with all of the pregnant ladies. I'm pretty sure he was the only man in there. I waited, by myself, in the doctor's office for what seemed like an eternity. He walked in with a file and sat across from me behind his desk. Anyone that walked in would have thought it was a job interview. Side note: I am very good at holding it together, especially if I am not with someone close to me. The first words out of his mouth as he sat down were, "I wish I had better news." I didn't really hear much after that, but I kept my gaze directly on him appearing to listen intently for this very medical terminology to tell me that I wasn't pregnant anymore. I was at 12 weeks when all this happened. The baby had stopped growing at 9 weeks. It's called a "blighted ovum." It wasn't anything I had done. Sometimes it just happens. It just happens, but why to me? We scheduled a D&C for Thursday. I left the office, passing my sweet Daddy in the waiting room and half mumbling we had to go. He could barely keep up with me as I walked to the elevators asking what was wrong as he hurried after me. This was it. I was away from people I didn't know, and I lost it as I told him sobbing, "I'm not pregnant anymore!" That was Sept. 10th, 1991. Many emotions would run through me the days and weeks ahead. Lots of anger at God, myself, just life. Deep sadness, grief really. I think miscarriage and how it affects someone is a little better understood these days. Back then, no one knew what to say. Someone very close to me actually called it a "female problem." People didn't treat it like a death back then, and yes, it isn't like losing a living, breathing child, but it is the death of a dream and a hope for a life. I did get pregnant again, almost as soon as the doctor said we could start trying, but this pregnancy was different. I didn't let myself get as excited as I did the first time. I, myself, never bought anything for my baby until she was born. As silly as it sounds, I was afraid to jinx myself. A year and 2 weeks after I lost my first baby, my Rainbow Baby was born. She was healthy and such a good baby. They are called Rainbow Babies because a rainbow signifies hope after a storm. What a beautiful sentiment. If I had not lost my first child, I may not have had her, and I certainly would not have had my second child as both of my pregnancies were filled with health issues. I would have stopped at 2 or maybe the first. I always say that everything happens for a reason. We may not see how the puzzle piece fits at the time, but it is part of a beautiful masterpiece. I am so glad my "Rainbow" is part of the mix!

Something I Almost Missed

When I was a teenager I never did the babysitting thing. If people I knew had new babies I never wanted to hold them. I didn't work in the nursery at church or help with the little kids Sunday school classes. I just didn't have any desire to be around children. I really thought I would never have kids. It just wasn't my thing. In fact before I was married I considered taking care of things permanently to never have children. I didn't take that step, thank God! I waited a while after I was married, almost 10 years, but I did finally actually want a child. I'm not sure if I've ever shared this before here, but I lost my first baby to a miscarriage, but luckily I did get pregnant again and about 40 weeks later I had a little girl, then 3 1/2 years after that another little girl. The teenager who didn't want any children was now a woman in her early 30's with 2. In 1992 and then again in 1996 I became a mother. Then, as life does sometimes, I was thrown a curve ball, and in 1998 I became a single mother. This thing that I started out never wanting to do at all I was now doing alone. Today is Mother's Day. A day set aside to honor those who gave us life, but this post is about honoring those who gave me a life worth living. Being a parent is hard work. Don't ever let anyone tell you anything different. It is the most important job in the world because, in essence, you hold the future in your hands. The  people you create and bring into this world will watch and learn from you. They'll pattern their behaviors after what they've seen you do. They'll treat people the way you raise them to, and they'll value and love themselves only if you treat them as valued and loved. You never stop being a parent. It is a tireless job 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, 365 days a year, but I would not trade it for anything! I am not rich. I do not have a high paying corporate job. I do not have a beach house in Malibu. In fact I haven't taken a real vacation in almost 10 years. Some people would look at those statistics and pity how unsuccessful I am at 50, but they would be so wrong. I have something so much more than material success. I have raised two amazing daughters, daughters that I know will make their mark in the world! Hell, they already have by the way they treat people in their everyday lives and the impact they have had on everyone they come in contact with. They are my legacy. They are my success! I have poured everything I am into being the best Mom and Dad that I can be. Am I the perfect parent? No, I have made tons of mistakes along the way, but I try to admit them and move on. I could not ask for a better relationship with both of my girls. We talk. Nothing fancy or ground shaking here. We talk. I treat them like people, and have always been honest with them and valued their input and opinions on whatever level they could offer them. More times than I can count they were teaching me something rather than the other way around. And as they continue through life and maybe become mothers themselves one day I pray that they will have the same awesome experience they have given me. I will be forever grateful for the privilege and honor of being their Mom and thrilled that life didn't work out the way I had originally planned.