In the folder of information that the hospital gave us to take home are several different pamphlets and booklets that describe the grieving process. The traditional "five stages of grief" are denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. One provided pamphlet notes, "People often think of grieving as going through stages that progress in a linear fashion. However... know that it is very unlikely that you will experience these feelings on a certain timetable or as 'stages.'"
If only it were that easy.
On Friday we found out our baby had died. Cliche it may be, but I couldn't shake the feeling of a bad dream that just wouldn't end. Surely soon I would wake up? I asked the doctor if he was sure, made him show me proof. Later, in the hospital's labor and delivery ward, I asked again. The world felt off-kilter, reality seemed indistinct.
Early Saturday my baby was born. I cried during the delivery, and then, empty and tired, I slept.
On Sunday I put on a brave face and at times actually felt brave. Sunday was a day of many people, many hugs, much love and support. I spent most of the morning trying to hide the shaking of my hands, the trembling of my chin. And I cried on that day too, sometimes with great uncontrollable sobs, sometimes silently. At some point I wondered, if I can just manage to stay calm will others recognize grief?
Monday was the worst. Monday found me doubled-over in the shower, gasping from a sadness that felt like a sword through my chest. It is startling, how physically painful sadness can be. That, in and of itself, is a shock.
Tuesday was a good day. I don't remember Tuesday.
On Wednesday the depression arrived. Just sadness in another form really, like a heavy wool blanket thrown over my shoulders, weighing me down, draining my energy. On Wednesday I accidentally drove by the grocery store I had been heading to, realized it several blocks later, kept driving. At Target I forced myself to read and reread my shopping list to try to fend off a peculiar propensity to wander aimlessly through the aisles, looking at everything and nothing. I discovered that smiling at strangers, even polite or kind ones, required more than I had to give. So I kept moving and prayed that I wouldn't see anyone I knew.
On Thursday the depression blanket was heavier and seemingly woven with sharp metal wire - anger making its first real appearance since the short burst of fury I had felt in the ultrasound room right after the doctor had left us alone with The News. I recognized the anger, an old tormentor in many ways, and kept questioning myself, who am I angry at? God? The doctor or hospital? Anyone and everyone? I never could successfully identify a rational target. But I realized that I felt cheated, robbed, and, unable to pinpoint The Robber, I directed my anger at the universe in general. I felt the first temptation to bitterness, the feeling that I had been wronged and had earned the right to take out my pain on others. After what had been taken from me, who could dare to hold me accountable?
Yesterday, another Friday, I got up (again! again and again and again) and went to a different hospital to be with my brother. I wore myself out with thinking other thoughts and grieving other griefs.
And now it has been a full week. A full week of being without child. A full week of emptiness. Everyone keeps asking me, "How are you doing?" At times, I have dreaded that question. I recognize that I have asked that same question to others many times before. I know there is really no other question to ask, and I know that it is motivated by love and concern. But I feel so at loss as how to answer. What does "good" or "bad" mean in this situation? It has been a full week of emptiness, and I have denied and raged and sunk low in depression, and I have even in some small ways (is there any small way?) accepted. Which parts are the good and which are the bad? Toward the questioner I sometimes find myself thinking, well, I'm here aren't I? I'm dressed, I'm standing, I'm looking you in the eye. I'm not somewhere curled up in the fetal position, lost in some mental oblivion. That's good right? That might not be the normal measuring stick for good, but what measuring stick do I qualify for right now?
How do I answer that question? Does the other person (often just a casual acquaintance) really want to know? Do I really want to tell them? Can I even figure it out for myself? Can I put it into words?
On Monday I forced myself to put on non-maternity pants even though they didn't fit. I couldn't bear to put on a lie. On Friday, almost without realizing it, I pulled on another pair and snapped them without trouble. I can't stop looking in mirrors, hypnotized. The belly is already almost entirely gone. And yet, sometimes I still think I feel the baby move.
On one day this past week, I can't remember which, Peter and I had a good talk. And I confessed. I would rather relive the delivery over and over and over than wake up to a new day each and every morning that does not contain some last connection to my son. I don't want to say goodbye. I don't want to be separated from him. I would rather live in pain and hold him than heal and be alone.
And that, all of that, is the grieving process. And it is not linear.
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Monday, February 21, 2011
Take Two
Well, this is not the photo post that I intended to put here.
Some very big life news had not made it on this blog yet. We found out right before Thanksgiving that we were going to have another baby! We held off announcing anything until we could tell my family in person at Christmas, and then we waited a little longer until we had passed the 12 week mark and were solidly into the second trimester. A few weeks ago we had the joy of announcing our good news at church and to our farther-flung friends over facebook. Since pretty much everyone who reads this blog is a friend of mine on facebook (as far as I know) it actually didn't immediately occur to me to post the news here - and when it did, I thought maybe I would just wait a few more weeks until we had the Big Ultrasound where you find out gender and then roll all the news into one big happy post.
Unfortunately, this past Friday at my routine appointment we found out that our baby's heart had stopped beating. I thought we had passed all the worry-points: the first trimester when the vast majority of miscarriages happen and the 14/15 week mark when our first miscarriage occurred. I had even thought I'd started feeling movement in the previous week and was in fact, sure that I'd felt the baby move just a day or two before. Friday morning I saw a few faint drops of blood after using the restroom first thing in the morning. (So sorry for what is almost certainly too much information.) It caused me some anxiety as my first miscarriage began the same way and as I've had no other bleeding of any kind in this or any other pregnancy. However, some spotting is supposedly not uncommon throughout pregnancy, and as all other trips to the restroom that morning resulted in no additional spotting (which was not true during my first miscarriage), I was able to keep my worry in check. I mentioned it to Peter and he was mildly concerned but not really worried and we headed off to my OB appointment.
We knew this should just be a quick, routine appointment: get in to see the doctor, hear the heartbeat, ask any questions we might have, and go on our way. The only real question I had was about the spotting I had seen earlier that morning, so I mentioned it to the doctor right off the bat as he was pulling over the Doppler device to listen for the heartbeat. He asked a few follow-up questions but didn't seem overly concerned, just as I had expected. I laid back and prepared to hear the heartbeat that would be the real reassurance I needed.
It didn't come. He patiently moved the device back and forth over my stomach and once caught the sound of my own pulse but even I could tell the difference. I remember at one point that he said he thought he heard movement. He asked if it had been hard to find the heartbeat before. It hadn't. He said that sometimes they can just be tricky to find and that he would go start the ultrasound machine so that we could see the baby and the heart. At the very end he caught my eye and quickly stated that he wasn't worried.
I didn't really believe him. I was pretty sure he was just saying that to try to make me feel better, but I tried to accept it and tried to believe it. Maybe there wasn't a reason to worry. Maybe this was just all going to be a good story - a little scary bleeding in the morning, followed by an appointment where it was hard to hear the heartbeat - just a good story for demonstrating the certain orneriness of any child of ours. I even tried to quickly cheer myself up with the thought that maybe this would be a chance to find out the gender 3 weeks early. It didn't really work. When the doctor left the room I tried to choke back some sobs as Peter patted me on the back. We didn't talk, just waited for the ultrasound.
Almost as soon as our baby was on the screen I knew something was wrong. He looked beautiful - we could clearly see so many features that had developed since our first ultrasound. But he was completely still, not a finger moved. And I knew that wasn't right. We silently watched the screen as the doctor tried different methods for checking the heart and bloodflow. I'm not sure exactly what the first thing he said was or when he said it, but I heard his, "I'm sorry," loud and clear and immediately put my hand over my face and sobbed. Peter held my other hand. I managed to pull it together and listened as the doctor discussed the next possible steps. I remember I asked him if he was absolutely sure. He said he was and then very carefully walked me through everything he could see with the ultrasound that proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that our baby was no longer alive.
The next hour or so was the roughest. We made plans to drop Eden off at my brother's house in St. Louis and then head back to check into the hospital for the induction. We had the choice of waiting, but Peter didn't want to, and considering our last experience, I certainly couldn't blame him. The doctor left the ultrasound room to give us some privacy, and I sobbed some more. Eden asked why mommy was sad, and Peter told her that we were sad because we found out the baby was gone and that we weren't going to get to see it or hold it soon. We had a family hug and she patted my head and kept asking me if I was sad. She asked this a few more times in the van on the way to St. Louis with a few more questions about the baby being gone. At one point she told me not to be sad - that I could have another baby soon. She was so surprisingly gentle and sweet for a toddler who couldn't possibly really understand what was going on, and her presence was a great comfort to me.
We dropped Eden off with my sister-in-law and were in the process of trying to figure out how to break the news to my mom when she called to inform us that my older brother had been involved in an accident and was in the hospital having surgery on his foot which had been badly damaged. As terrible as it might sound, this additional bad news had one good effect in that it snapped me out of a world that had rapidly shrunk down in the previous hour to the size of my own individual pain. I felt overwhelmed but also as if I could breathe and think again. I guess it gave me some needed perspective.
I don't want to drag this story on forever. We checked into the hospital. Everyone was very kind. At around 5 pm they started the induction process. Our baby boy was born at 1:44 am Saturday morning. Peter and I got to spend a few minutes holding him for which I was very grateful. Our doctor arrived to assist with the end of delivery and then we got a couple hours of sleep. We checked out of the hospital at around 10:30 am that morning, went home to shower, and then headed to St. Louis to see my mom and Eden. Today we are all home together again in our new house.
Just as before, except for those first few horrible hours, the real pain is only now slowly beginning. There's something about the initial activity that helps keep the pain back. You're distracted, focused on the needs at hand. But now I'm home and there's not a single thing to do that involves my baby. It's life as usual except for the huge gaping wound that is me in the midst of it.
We named him Judah St. John. That has been his name all along so it wasn't a hard decision. Back in the fall as another month passed in which we didn't get pregnant (we had been trying, yet again, for over a year), I had stood at the bathroom mirror and wondered almost absently to myself if we would ever have another baby. And it was almost as if I heard another voice in my head reply, "Yes. You will have a son, and you will name him Judah." I wondered if it was just me talking myself, a sort of internal pep talk. Judah seemed like kind of a strange name though, a bit out of the blue. I had always loved the story of the naming of Judah in the Bible, but he was also a bit of a notorious character - not necessarily someone you would want to name your child for. I mentioned it to Peter, and we both kind of thought, well, we'll see if it's even a boy... But over the course of my pregnancy we both started to think of the baby as a boy and as Judah, and every time someone made a guess as to gender, they also always guessed boy.
Judah means praise. In Genesis 29:31-35, you can find the beginning of his story. Leah, a woman whose husband does not love her, gives birth to four sons in a row. The first three she gives names that all have meanings connected to her hope that her husband will now love her for what she has given him. But on the birth of her fourth son, she states, “This time I will praise the LORD.” So she named him Judah. For some reason, even as a child I loved this story. I loved that Leah stopped trying to earn her husband's love and just decided to praise God for what he had given to her. I loved that it was out of the line of Judah that Jesus was born. Out of praise came Redemption. Out of praise came Love.
We had tossed around ideas for middle names, but had trouble coming up with anything that seemed to fit with Judah. At one point, I suggested we choose the name of someone we admired. Peter suggested St. John, which I thought was kind of neat, since the Apostle John (who refers to himself as the "disciple Jesus loved" in his own Gospel and who wrote some of the greatest words on Love in his epistles) is one of my favorite New Testament characters. But Peter was actually thinking of the famous Christian mystic, St. John of the Cross, who wrote the poem, Dark Night of the Soul. We kind of liked the way the two names sounded together although we knew they were both pretty unusual and together might just be a bit too much. Now they both just seem perfect to me - perfect to the situation, perfect to our son.
I don't really know what else to write at this point. Peter is home from work, I need to wake Eden up from her nap. We need to get dinner ready, wash dishes, do laundry. At some point I really need to get some more unpacking done.
We won't be putting together a nursery now. I have no idea what the future holds but can't imagine a situation in which a nursery would be of any use for well over a year at the very least. I don't say this out of some sort of gloomy negativity, but it is always possible that we may never have another need for a nursery. That's something that my heart, for its own protection, needs to remain open to.
Overall, we are in a better place that we were the last time this happened. We know what to expect. As much as anyone can, I know the road that lies before me. I hate it. I do. I so hate to be here again, to keep waking up to this same nightmare, this same grief, this same weight. But, I also have a tired, battered confidence that we will make it through. We will take one step after the next. We will bear it. And there will be a day when I will wake up and my first thought, my first very sensation, won't be of what I have lost.
I don't want to go on too long. I know people who have suffered much more than me and who have been and are so beautifully graceful in their grief. That is not me. I don't have any great or profound thoughts. I just want to get up and do the best I can with this moment. And the moment after that. And the moment after that. I know I am not alone. I know my Savior is with me. Sometimes He feels very close. More often right now, honestly, He feels a bit remote. But we've been down this road before together, and I trust Him. I know who He is. I know He loves me. He has not left me now. I know it is His mercies that get me through every moment. And I'm so thankful for that and thankful for what He will yet do.
Some very big life news had not made it on this blog yet. We found out right before Thanksgiving that we were going to have another baby! We held off announcing anything until we could tell my family in person at Christmas, and then we waited a little longer until we had passed the 12 week mark and were solidly into the second trimester. A few weeks ago we had the joy of announcing our good news at church and to our farther-flung friends over facebook. Since pretty much everyone who reads this blog is a friend of mine on facebook (as far as I know) it actually didn't immediately occur to me to post the news here - and when it did, I thought maybe I would just wait a few more weeks until we had the Big Ultrasound where you find out gender and then roll all the news into one big happy post.
Unfortunately, this past Friday at my routine appointment we found out that our baby's heart had stopped beating. I thought we had passed all the worry-points: the first trimester when the vast majority of miscarriages happen and the 14/15 week mark when our first miscarriage occurred. I had even thought I'd started feeling movement in the previous week and was in fact, sure that I'd felt the baby move just a day or two before. Friday morning I saw a few faint drops of blood after using the restroom first thing in the morning. (So sorry for what is almost certainly too much information.) It caused me some anxiety as my first miscarriage began the same way and as I've had no other bleeding of any kind in this or any other pregnancy. However, some spotting is supposedly not uncommon throughout pregnancy, and as all other trips to the restroom that morning resulted in no additional spotting (which was not true during my first miscarriage), I was able to keep my worry in check. I mentioned it to Peter and he was mildly concerned but not really worried and we headed off to my OB appointment.
We knew this should just be a quick, routine appointment: get in to see the doctor, hear the heartbeat, ask any questions we might have, and go on our way. The only real question I had was about the spotting I had seen earlier that morning, so I mentioned it to the doctor right off the bat as he was pulling over the Doppler device to listen for the heartbeat. He asked a few follow-up questions but didn't seem overly concerned, just as I had expected. I laid back and prepared to hear the heartbeat that would be the real reassurance I needed.
It didn't come. He patiently moved the device back and forth over my stomach and once caught the sound of my own pulse but even I could tell the difference. I remember at one point that he said he thought he heard movement. He asked if it had been hard to find the heartbeat before. It hadn't. He said that sometimes they can just be tricky to find and that he would go start the ultrasound machine so that we could see the baby and the heart. At the very end he caught my eye and quickly stated that he wasn't worried.
I didn't really believe him. I was pretty sure he was just saying that to try to make me feel better, but I tried to accept it and tried to believe it. Maybe there wasn't a reason to worry. Maybe this was just all going to be a good story - a little scary bleeding in the morning, followed by an appointment where it was hard to hear the heartbeat - just a good story for demonstrating the certain orneriness of any child of ours. I even tried to quickly cheer myself up with the thought that maybe this would be a chance to find out the gender 3 weeks early. It didn't really work. When the doctor left the room I tried to choke back some sobs as Peter patted me on the back. We didn't talk, just waited for the ultrasound.
Almost as soon as our baby was on the screen I knew something was wrong. He looked beautiful - we could clearly see so many features that had developed since our first ultrasound. But he was completely still, not a finger moved. And I knew that wasn't right. We silently watched the screen as the doctor tried different methods for checking the heart and bloodflow. I'm not sure exactly what the first thing he said was or when he said it, but I heard his, "I'm sorry," loud and clear and immediately put my hand over my face and sobbed. Peter held my other hand. I managed to pull it together and listened as the doctor discussed the next possible steps. I remember I asked him if he was absolutely sure. He said he was and then very carefully walked me through everything he could see with the ultrasound that proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that our baby was no longer alive.
The next hour or so was the roughest. We made plans to drop Eden off at my brother's house in St. Louis and then head back to check into the hospital for the induction. We had the choice of waiting, but Peter didn't want to, and considering our last experience, I certainly couldn't blame him. The doctor left the ultrasound room to give us some privacy, and I sobbed some more. Eden asked why mommy was sad, and Peter told her that we were sad because we found out the baby was gone and that we weren't going to get to see it or hold it soon. We had a family hug and she patted my head and kept asking me if I was sad. She asked this a few more times in the van on the way to St. Louis with a few more questions about the baby being gone. At one point she told me not to be sad - that I could have another baby soon. She was so surprisingly gentle and sweet for a toddler who couldn't possibly really understand what was going on, and her presence was a great comfort to me.
We dropped Eden off with my sister-in-law and were in the process of trying to figure out how to break the news to my mom when she called to inform us that my older brother had been involved in an accident and was in the hospital having surgery on his foot which had been badly damaged. As terrible as it might sound, this additional bad news had one good effect in that it snapped me out of a world that had rapidly shrunk down in the previous hour to the size of my own individual pain. I felt overwhelmed but also as if I could breathe and think again. I guess it gave me some needed perspective.
I don't want to drag this story on forever. We checked into the hospital. Everyone was very kind. At around 5 pm they started the induction process. Our baby boy was born at 1:44 am Saturday morning. Peter and I got to spend a few minutes holding him for which I was very grateful. Our doctor arrived to assist with the end of delivery and then we got a couple hours of sleep. We checked out of the hospital at around 10:30 am that morning, went home to shower, and then headed to St. Louis to see my mom and Eden. Today we are all home together again in our new house.
Just as before, except for those first few horrible hours, the real pain is only now slowly beginning. There's something about the initial activity that helps keep the pain back. You're distracted, focused on the needs at hand. But now I'm home and there's not a single thing to do that involves my baby. It's life as usual except for the huge gaping wound that is me in the midst of it.
We named him Judah St. John. That has been his name all along so it wasn't a hard decision. Back in the fall as another month passed in which we didn't get pregnant (we had been trying, yet again, for over a year), I had stood at the bathroom mirror and wondered almost absently to myself if we would ever have another baby. And it was almost as if I heard another voice in my head reply, "Yes. You will have a son, and you will name him Judah." I wondered if it was just me talking myself, a sort of internal pep talk. Judah seemed like kind of a strange name though, a bit out of the blue. I had always loved the story of the naming of Judah in the Bible, but he was also a bit of a notorious character - not necessarily someone you would want to name your child for. I mentioned it to Peter, and we both kind of thought, well, we'll see if it's even a boy... But over the course of my pregnancy we both started to think of the baby as a boy and as Judah, and every time someone made a guess as to gender, they also always guessed boy.
Judah means praise. In Genesis 29:31-35, you can find the beginning of his story. Leah, a woman whose husband does not love her, gives birth to four sons in a row. The first three she gives names that all have meanings connected to her hope that her husband will now love her for what she has given him. But on the birth of her fourth son, she states, “This time I will praise the LORD.” So she named him Judah. For some reason, even as a child I loved this story. I loved that Leah stopped trying to earn her husband's love and just decided to praise God for what he had given to her. I loved that it was out of the line of Judah that Jesus was born. Out of praise came Redemption. Out of praise came Love.
We had tossed around ideas for middle names, but had trouble coming up with anything that seemed to fit with Judah. At one point, I suggested we choose the name of someone we admired. Peter suggested St. John, which I thought was kind of neat, since the Apostle John (who refers to himself as the "disciple Jesus loved" in his own Gospel and who wrote some of the greatest words on Love in his epistles) is one of my favorite New Testament characters. But Peter was actually thinking of the famous Christian mystic, St. John of the Cross, who wrote the poem, Dark Night of the Soul. We kind of liked the way the two names sounded together although we knew they were both pretty unusual and together might just be a bit too much. Now they both just seem perfect to me - perfect to the situation, perfect to our son.
I don't really know what else to write at this point. Peter is home from work, I need to wake Eden up from her nap. We need to get dinner ready, wash dishes, do laundry. At some point I really need to get some more unpacking done.
We won't be putting together a nursery now. I have no idea what the future holds but can't imagine a situation in which a nursery would be of any use for well over a year at the very least. I don't say this out of some sort of gloomy negativity, but it is always possible that we may never have another need for a nursery. That's something that my heart, for its own protection, needs to remain open to.
Overall, we are in a better place that we were the last time this happened. We know what to expect. As much as anyone can, I know the road that lies before me. I hate it. I do. I so hate to be here again, to keep waking up to this same nightmare, this same grief, this same weight. But, I also have a tired, battered confidence that we will make it through. We will take one step after the next. We will bear it. And there will be a day when I will wake up and my first thought, my first very sensation, won't be of what I have lost.
I don't want to go on too long. I know people who have suffered much more than me and who have been and are so beautifully graceful in their grief. That is not me. I don't have any great or profound thoughts. I just want to get up and do the best I can with this moment. And the moment after that. And the moment after that. I know I am not alone. I know my Savior is with me. Sometimes He feels very close. More often right now, honestly, He feels a bit remote. But we've been down this road before together, and I trust Him. I know who He is. I know He loves me. He has not left me now. I know it is His mercies that get me through every moment. And I'm so thankful for that and thankful for what He will yet do.
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
There's No Place Like Your Own Place
We are officially in our new home!
And it is lovely. Very definitely still a work in progress, but lovely just the same. Despite this, Eden keeps informing me how much she loves the "gray house" (our old apartment) and even asked a few days ago if we could move her stuff back there. Every time we drive by the old place (which kind of makes it sound like a farm three generations of our ancestors were raised in instead of a rather smelly apartment that we lived in for 7 months without ever fully unpacking) we must all wave and say hello to the gray house.
I'm wondering when this will end. I predict about the time that Eden realizes our new house comes with a yard.
It snowed on the morning of our move. I had heard something about "flurries," but we woke up to a good 2-3 inches, with another inch or so coming down during the few hours it took us to move our stuff from the apartment to the house in the back of several pickup trucks. Despite this bit of unexpected drama, the process went very smoothly, thanks to the help of many friends. And it only took about a day for our mattress (the item that seemed to suffer the most from a little snow exposure) to dry out.
The home renovations weren't 100% complete at the time of the move, so we've been unpacking in stages as projects are finished. I'm hoping that things will mostly be in place by the end of February. And even though there is still a bit of chaos, I can definitely state that it is so much nicer to be all in one house again. Now, even if Peter is working on the house until 10 pm, he is just downstairs (or upstairs or wherever) instead of across town. It's really quite amazing the difference that makes. And even though there are still boxes in every room it seems that something new gets "put away" every day. In fact, this whole moving in process feels a lot like the very slow change from Winter to Spring that we are simultaneously experiencing. Even though some days seem just as overcast and chilly as the day before, I know that each one brings us inevitably closer to sunshine and warmth. And then there are the dramatically different days where it is obvious that Spring will be here before we know it. It makes me happy and gives me a little more strength to be patient. The worst is behind us!
So, life in our house at the moment: 1) looking forward to being settled in our new home, 2) looking forward to Spring, and 3) so very thankful for both!
P.S. I feel like I owe you all pictures. A lot of pictures. Not just of the house in all its stages (which would be enough), but also of the last few months of our lives. I would like to promise that this will happen, but frankly, it takes 800 bajillion hours to load a bunch of photos into blogger. Also, some patience. It is hard to come up with 800 bajillion hours. It is much harder to come up with the patience. But, for you, I will try. Try. It will probably be best if you keep your expectations low.
And it is lovely. Very definitely still a work in progress, but lovely just the same. Despite this, Eden keeps informing me how much she loves the "gray house" (our old apartment) and even asked a few days ago if we could move her stuff back there. Every time we drive by the old place (which kind of makes it sound like a farm three generations of our ancestors were raised in instead of a rather smelly apartment that we lived in for 7 months without ever fully unpacking) we must all wave and say hello to the gray house.
I'm wondering when this will end. I predict about the time that Eden realizes our new house comes with a yard.
It snowed on the morning of our move. I had heard something about "flurries," but we woke up to a good 2-3 inches, with another inch or so coming down during the few hours it took us to move our stuff from the apartment to the house in the back of several pickup trucks. Despite this bit of unexpected drama, the process went very smoothly, thanks to the help of many friends. And it only took about a day for our mattress (the item that seemed to suffer the most from a little snow exposure) to dry out.
The home renovations weren't 100% complete at the time of the move, so we've been unpacking in stages as projects are finished. I'm hoping that things will mostly be in place by the end of February. And even though there is still a bit of chaos, I can definitely state that it is so much nicer to be all in one house again. Now, even if Peter is working on the house until 10 pm, he is just downstairs (or upstairs or wherever) instead of across town. It's really quite amazing the difference that makes. And even though there are still boxes in every room it seems that something new gets "put away" every day. In fact, this whole moving in process feels a lot like the very slow change from Winter to Spring that we are simultaneously experiencing. Even though some days seem just as overcast and chilly as the day before, I know that each one brings us inevitably closer to sunshine and warmth. And then there are the dramatically different days where it is obvious that Spring will be here before we know it. It makes me happy and gives me a little more strength to be patient. The worst is behind us!
So, life in our house at the moment: 1) looking forward to being settled in our new home, 2) looking forward to Spring, and 3) so very thankful for both!
P.S. I feel like I owe you all pictures. A lot of pictures. Not just of the house in all its stages (which would be enough), but also of the last few months of our lives. I would like to promise that this will happen, but frankly, it takes 800 bajillion hours to load a bunch of photos into blogger. Also, some patience. It is hard to come up with 800 bajillion hours. It is much harder to come up with the patience. But, for you, I will try. Try. It will probably be best if you keep your expectations low.
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