Tag Archives: Babies

Miscarriage

Posted on by
2

By: Crissie Miller Kirby

I will never, ever forget that day – Friday, March 16, 2007.  I was 11 weeks pregnant with my 2nd child and scheduled for a routine ultrasound.  My nerves were a wreck.  My husband had been away for 3 weeks working a shift of border patrol for the SC National Guard, and I had experienced some spotting during that time.  It was nothing major and the midwife had assured me that if it stopped on its own that everything was most likely fine, but we would make sure when I came in for my appointment on the 16th.

The nurse came to the door and said that my doctor was running late after his shift at the hospital; I could either reschedule my appointment or wait.  I immediately said that I wanted to wait because I’d been having some issues and wanted to make sure that everything was okay.

When he arrived, we went back in the exam room and my OB started the ultrasound.  At 11 weeks, we should have been able to see some sign of the baby, but couldn’t.  He switched from the external ultrasound to the vaginal ultrasound, thinking maybe my dates were wrong and I wasn’t as far along as we had originally suspected.  However, our fears were realized when he said that while the gestational sac was present, there was no baby; it had not developed.  Tears flooded my eyes.  I was heartbroken.  I was devastated.

My OB-GYN and his staff were absolutely wonderful.  They hugged me and offered their condolences and words of consolation and prayers.  The decision about how to proceed was left to us; we could wait for my body to realize that there was no baby to support and it would begin the miscarriage process on its own or I could schedule a D&C.  The uncertainty of when that might happen, combined with the fact that Pierce was only 15 months old caused us to schedule a D&C for the following Monday.

We left the doctor’s office in tears and headed back to my office.  I couldn’t face anyone right then, so my husband went in to tell my co-workers what had taken place and that I would not be back that day.  We went home and made the phone calls to our immediate families and our closest friends.

I just didn’t understand why or how this had happened.  I had had such an easy pregnancy with Pierce; I was, literally, the woman other women loved to hate.  I never had morning sickness, no spotting, no swelling, and minimal weight gain.  Pregnancy had been so easy for me – how could I now be on the cusp of miscarrying?  I blamed myself.  Surely I had done something that had caused this situation.  I thought that maybe even God was punishing me for things I had done in my past.

That weekend I experienced the worst physical and emotional pain of my life.  Emotionally, I was drained, devastated, and just wanted to get everything over with and get back to “normal.”  Physically, my body began to miscarry and I wound up in the Emergency Room.  Monday morning came and I underwent the D&C.  God bless my doctor, the nurses, the anesthesiologist and the nurse anesthetist; they did everything to make me comfortable, put my mind at ease, and to keep me from getting sick after surgery.

The partial ending of this story is that about 5-6 months after my miscarriage, I became pregnant with my precious Smith and my pregnancy with him was, like my pregnancy with Pierce, pretty easy and enjoyable.  Other than the initial concerns, until we heard his heart beat, and saw him growing well in utero, it was a great pregnancy.  Unfortunately, my miscarriage also had a profound negative effect on my marriage and less than 4 years later, I would be divorced.

I share my story with you because as women we all know that October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month, but did you also know that October 15th is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Day?  Too often, we neglect pregnancy and infant loss, because we are uncomfortable with it – we don’t know what to say.  The truth of the matter is, pregnancy and infant loss is just like the death of someone else that you dearly loved.  The biggest difference is that in most instances, you never knew the person that died; you may not have even known that the little person existed.  But, to the parents, that little person had a name, hopes and dreams attached to him or her.  That loss is just as important to the parents as the loss of a spouse or a parent or sibling; it can be devastating.

Even more so as, in most circumstances, there is no funeral or memorial service during which to say final goodbyes; no real opportunity for “closure.”  Well meaning individuals try to console us by proclaiming that there can be other babies; they insist that something must have been wrong with the baby; or, that it was just simply God’s will.  Their words, while well intentioned, often serve to lessen or negate the loss.  Many feel that we should just be able to move on and live life as if the loss had never happened.  Unfortunately, those losses have the power to transform families; some positively, others negatively.

For those of us who have loved and lost children we did not have the chance to ever know, we take a moment today to reflect and remember those tiny lives that touched us so immensely.

Why I Love Lightsabers and Not Barbie Shoes

Posted on by
1

By: Crissie Miller Kirby

Sometimes, you have to be thankful that God gives you what you need, and not always what it is that you think you want.

Being the youngest of two children and the only girl, I grew up in the 80’s surrounded by GI Joe’s, Star Wars figurines, wrestlers, baseballs and footballs.  While I had Barbies and was a Cabbage Patch Kid collector (last count was 10 or 11, I think), I always dreamed of being Princess Leia.  I had a brother who, while I idolized him, tried out on me every wrestling move the 80’s gave us, so of course, if I were Princess Leia I could kick butt and take names later.  I wasn’t really a “tom boy,” but I wasn’t really a “girlie” girl either.

As I got older, got married, and then started planning a family, I dreamed, though, of having my own little girl to dress and spoil.  I could think of nothing more than beautiful smocked dresses and hair bows galore.  When I got pregnant with my first child, I prayed to have a little girl.  Yes, I wanted to have a healthy child, but in my mind health and gender were two separate issues completely, so I prayed for a healthy child, but I really wanted “it” to be a girl.  That June ultrasound brought the news that I was most definitely NOT having a girl.  I’ll be honest, I cried for 4 days.  I caught all manner of flack for seemingly being ungrateful for carrying a healthy baby.  I was very grateful, but I was disappointed.  I’m also brutally honest, and so I let my feelings and thoughts show.  December 7, 2005 arrived and at 8:00 a.m. I fell in love with a beautiful blonde haired, blue eyed little boy named Samuel Pierce Kirby, II.

Fast forward about 2 years.

By this time, I’ve got a 2-year-old and am 4 months pregnant.  I am also roughly 9 months removed from a miscarriage.  I go in for my routine 16-week ultrasound and the baby will not cooperate, so we end the session knowing that “baby” is healthy, but refusing to share its gender with us.  My wonderful OB-GYN takes pity on me and agrees to bring me back in the following week for an “unofficial” ultrasound the week before Christmas so that I will, hopefully, know the gender before the holidays.  We spend one week sure that this baby is a girl because it was being stubborn like me.  When we get to the office for the ultrasound, I’ve had orange juice and Coke hoping to excite this little one into telling us whether it is a “he” or a “she.”  The answer is obvious the moment the transducer is placed on my stomach.  It was very clear, immediately, that I was, again, NOT having a little girl.  Again, I was devastated, but not quite as upset as before, I cried for only 2 days this time.  I worried that I would not be able to equally love another little boy like I loved Pierce, but at 8:07 on May 5, 2008; I was proven wrong when John Smith Kirby made his appearance and I, once again, fell in love with a beautiful blonde-haired, blue-eyed little man.

Fast forward almost 5 years, and I’m the single mom to these two precious and beautiful, blonde-haired, blue-eyed “lady killers.”  I’ve been able to buy some smocked clothing, but at 6 and 4, those outfits are slowly becoming just a memory.  My house is covered in Thomas the Train, Buzz, Woody and the whole gang.  My boys know the names of almost every character from Harry Potter and can even pronounce them correctly.  We’ve watched all six Star Wars movies, and we have enough light sabers around to single-handedly save the Republic.  At least the lightsabers are larger than Barbie shoes, so you can typically avoid them in the middle of the night.

Obviously, I have no experience with little girls, but I know that during the last 3 years when I was at my lowest point, these little men knew, instinctively, how to lift my spirits.  There is something to be said for the “Mama’s Boy” syndrome; in each little boy lies the honesty, utter love and loyalty every woman desires.  Nothing lifts my spirit or makes me smile brighter than hearing an unsolicited “Mommy, I like that dress on you” or “Mommy, you look pretty.”  I always had short hair until life kept me from getting it cut as frequently as I had before, now I may never have short hair again as my little fellows have told me that they like my hair long.  After my trim the other night, Pierce told me that he liked my haircut.  And speaking of hair, during my most trying moments, I didn’t have to worry about ponytails or pigtails or braids.  I also have the simple pleasure of just handing the boys the clothes they will wear and hearing little to no protests.  I even asked Pierce one morning if he wanted to help pick out his clothes; his lifesaving response was that he would rather I just pick them out for him.  All of this certainly has made my life much easier.

Today, if you were to ask me, I would tell you that I would not trade my two little men for a million little girls and their smocked dresses and hair bows and Barbie shoes.  I often wonder if I ever re-marry and desire more children, what I would do if I did actually have a little girl?  I would almost tell you that I would rather I have another little boy, because at the end of the day, I do really prefer lightsabers to Barbie shoes.

Are You Woman Enough?

Posted on by
6

By: Crissie Miller Kirby

I’ve been toying with writing about this for a while, but really felt compelled to write this following the publication of Time magazine’s latest issue, upon which the cover shows a woman breastfeeding her 3-year-old son.  The title of the article, “Are You Mom Enough?” to say the least, sets me on fire.  The article goes on to discuss the growing popularity of the theory of attachment parenting which centers around one physician’s advice to never let your child cry, to breastfeed for years, as long as you want to, and to keep your infant close to you to create stronger bonds.  While we all want to create safe, loving, and nurturing environments for our children, some of Dr. Sears’ ideas just are not practical in everyday life for some families.  Please note I said some families.  For some families it may work wonderfully, however, it may not work well in others, which leads me to my discussion of the “Mommy Wars.”

Why is it that society feels the need to judge every single move that we mothers make?  Why is it that we mothers feel the need to judge every single move that other mothers make?  We don’t live each others’ lives, so why is it that we feel like we know what is truly best for a certain child?  I’ve always been troubled by this.  When I was pregnant with my oldest son, I remember having a conversation with a staunch breastfeeding supporter and her quick and judgmental “you aren’t even going to try?” response to my statement that I had no desire to breastfeed.  Before she ever heard the reasons why, she judged my decision.  And while it was truly no business of hers, I felt compelled to divulge the fact that only 5 years prior I had undergone breast reduction surgery and had been told I most likely would not be able to breastfeed.  In my mind, why should I get worked up over it?  It was not like I would be abandoning my child at birth and leaving him to fend for himself; I was still going to provide food and nutrition for him.  But that one moment in time bothered me for a long time, and, truthfully, still bothers me to this day.

I’ve had a number of friends breastfeed their children.  I’ve sat with them while they have breastfed and been okay with it.  Because it is that family’s choice; not mine.  I think of the friends that I have who have struggled with infertility that finally were able to call a child theirs through adoption; do they deserve the nasty looks or snide comments about bottle feeding their infants?  Definitely not!  They are doing something much more powerful by loving and caring for a child who, for whatever reasons, could not be cared for by the biological mother and/or father.

Yes, I know what the research shows.  I know what the AAP and WHO say about breastfeeding.  I even know that there are ways to induce yourself to lactate even if you did not give birth.  I had conversations with my pediatrician BEFORE my son was born to assure me that he would be okay surviving on formula.  And he was.  And so was his brother after him.  Never did we struggle with “failure to thrive” or latching issues.  We were able to bottle feed with little to no stress.  Both of my children have been relatively healthy and happy children and neither struggle with obesity.

So my question is, “Are you Mom Enough To Not Judge Another Mom?”  Why must we form bonds with other mothers simply because we breastfeed, or don’t, or stay at home, or work outside of the home, or attachment parent, or don’t?  Why can’t we form the bond simply because we all share one thing in common?

The fact that we are mothers.