Lullaby

Tonight, I was brought back to the girls' NICU days...brought back in an instant, like it was last week. In the beginning of November 2006, Josh Groban released a new album. My mom had a copy for me on release day (of course) and I listened to it driving to and from St. Jo's. At the time, I was incredibly down, very frustrated, and often overwhelmed, thinking and feeling like the girls were never going to come home. They were miserable at feeding at what should have been 37 weeks for them. Most babies born early get the whole feeding thing between 34-36 weeks, but NO...not my girls. They had no clue and each feeding session would result in alarms galore, sputtering, gagging, choking, not breathing, babies turning blue, red...and then, each of them being so exhausted from all of the drama that we would have to stop and gavage the remainder of the feed (through a feeding tube), which was pretty much the whole darn thing. Sigh. 

Day after day, night after night, the routine was the same. A particular song on Josh's new album spoke to me...revealed my feelings as a mother saying good-bye to her children each and every night, with such simplicity and such truth. I heard that song again tonight on a PBS special and wanted to share it with you all. I have added it to my Playlist (scroll to the bottom of my blog) and you can click on it to hear it (if it isn't playing right now). It is such a beautiful song. I think I had it memorized in a couple days (not hard to do when you hear it umpteen times in a row, on repeat, while sitting in traffic). Well, I began singing that song to my girls when I held them for hours on end, rocking in that light denim cushioned glider, by their crib in the NICU. Two and a half years later, I still sing this very song to them when I put them down to bed. 

I look forward to one day sharing with them the incredible meaning behind this song and how it pulled me through those last few weeks in the NICU, when I had truly given up hope. While I pray they do not have to endure leaving their children ever, I do hope that songs like this one will offer them a glimpse of the incredible journey that brought them into our lives and then brought them home to us, our two miracle girls.

Lullaby

Hush now baby don't you cry

Rest your wings my butterfly

Peace will come to you in time

And I will sing this lullaby

Know though I must leave my child

That I would stay here by your side

And if you wake before I'm gone

Remember this sweet lullaby

And oh, through darkness, don't you ever stop believing

With love alone, with love you will find your way

My love

The world has turned the day to dark

I leave this night with heavy heart

When I return to dry your eyes

I will sing this lullaby

Yes I will sing this lullaby

~Josh Groban

Once again...

...I am backed up on posts. Tons of photos to upload...but uh, no camera? It is MIA and could be somewhere in my car...will look tomorrow. 

...so much to say right now, but no chance to just sit with my laptop (unless it's 1:14am, like right now...and I so desperately need to go back to sleep!), uninterrupted. There's the walk, a great day at D-land, another great day in Santa Barbara, and some things that have been running through my head a lot lately.

Looking forward to today...(once I go back to sleep, that is, so I can wake up for today)...a day with the hubby and another couple...cruising up the coast in the convertibles to Santa Barbara for OURSELVES...what, no zoo? No stroller? 

We'll chat soon, I hope. :)

Today we walk...

Today the Mikels and Lewis families walk in honor of our five precious miracles...

Riley Belle

Born at 29 weeks

3 lbs., 4 oz.

Juliana Faith

Born at 27 weeks

2 lbs., 1 oz.

Mia Therese

Born at 27 weeks

2 lbs., 2 oz.

Blake Lucas

Born at 23 weeks

1 lb., 7 oz.

Ethan Derek

Born at 23 weeks

1 lb., 8 oz.

And though Blake and Ethan are not with us today, they are forever in our hearts. We walk for babies born premature, who have survived and are thriving children today...like Riley, Juliana, and Mia. 

We walk for babies born premature who graced this earth for only a few days...like Ethan and Blake.

We walk for Kayleigh.

We walk for Addy and Reagan.

We walk for ALL babies...so one day they will ALL get the nine months they so desperately need.

Only three more days...

...and we will walk to save babies.

Little,

innocent,

precious,

beautiful,

amazing,

babies.

Please, help us fight prematurity, one step at a time.

**When viewing the montage, scroll down to the bottom of my blog to mute the blog music first so you can hear the montage music.

Amazing Kayleigh

For quite some time, I have been following the incredible story of Kayleigh...born at just 1 lb., 1 oz. and 10.5 inches long...talk about preemie! She defied the odds, fought long and hard, and was so very close to coming home. During her final surgery, her brain was deprived of oxygen for a period of time...long enough to cause irreparable damage. They have spent the last few weeks trying to stabilize her, wean her off her meds, so her family could bring her home and have her live her final moments in her room, where she truly belonged. 

I learned this morning that sweet Kayleigh went home to be with Jesus. She didn't make it home with her family, but she did make it home to Him. She is no longer suffering, just beautiful and whole.

Please pray for her family as they mourn the loss of their precious little girl on this side of heaven. I just can't imagine...after everything they went through...I just don't have the words. Praying for her mommy, daddy, brother and sister...and all those who Kayleigh touched in her short, but miraculous little life.

One Thing

The week of April 27th was National Infertility Awareness Week...yes, it gets it's very own week out of the year. While I had hoped to post something sooner, it simply didn't happen.

One. Little. Week. Sigh. And I missed it.

A new (in)fertility website has promoted the "One Thing" campaign for the last two weeks...one thing you would like people to know most about infertility.

If there is one thing I would like people to know and understand about infertility is how much it changes who you are...forever. I've said on my other blog before, that infertility hurts...it hurt then and it still hurts now. I know it's odd, but it really doesn't matter that I have crossed over to the other side, so to speak, as a mother of two little girls. It should...but it doesn't. I still get that little twinge in my stomach with pregnancy announcements, baby showers, birth announcements, christenings, baptisms, birthdays...and it's never anything directed at that person(s), but rather a reminder of my own inadequacies as a woman who can't do the one thing I'm supposed to be able to do, a reminder of years of sadness, my own shattered dreams, my own futile hopes. 

More than three years after becoming pregnant with the girls, it is still a huge part of who I am today. Yes, I am now a mother...an amazing gift and one I truly never thought I would be given. But three years later, I still have to pinch myself to see if this is all real...to see if this is really my life. I still sit at the foot of the girls' bed and watch them in complete awe while they are sleeping because I canNOT believe they are my daughters. I am still brought to tears as I watch the girls, hand in hand with their daddy...a vision that I once daydreamed about whenever I saw Robert from a distance. I still cannot listen to certain songs without being brought to my knees, in a puddle of tears, because I know that I am so incredibly blessed to be living my dream. I don't take these small moments for granted, I cherish them all and often stop to just take it all in...to convince myself that this is in fact my life now...that it is not three years ago when we were so desperate, so lonely, so heartbroken, so sad.

Infertility is something we still talk about, we still face--it has never gone away, we were never "cured." Because if we were magically fixed by having our girls, we would probably being trying again, be pregnant again, or have another child by now. 

But I assure you, not one of those things is happening or has happened. Instead of following our heart's desire to have more children, we are forced to set it aside, hoping that it will either fade away on its own or that one day we will be in a place where we can try again. 

And until either one of those things happens, it will still be the "one thing" that will always be a part of me, for better or worse. I have accepted my infertility. I have embraced it as part of me. I only hope that in coming to that place of acceptance, I can help others who are facing IF, by sharing our journey thus far and our hope for the future.

Praying tonight for far too many women, whose dream has yet to come true, whose prayers have gone unanswered, whose hearts are broken, and whose spirits are weary...that this be the last Mother's Day they spend without a little one in their arms. Thinking of you all...knowing the place you are in...holding you all close.