About Bran
I remember that I
was lying right here in my spot on the bed looking out my huge
picture window into the branches of the fir tree right outside, but
instead of Winter sun, low and filtered by slowly rolling, thick
clouds, the golden light of a Summer sun, shining into my window
since about 5am, was starting to warm the room. Wearing an unbuttoned
nightgown for easy nursing and skin-to-skin contact, I did my best to
soak in the moments. I felt incredible, almost euphoric. The
co-sleeper was to my left, extending my nest and forming a hedge to
hold in my pillows. I used 5, I think: 2 behind me, one on either
side of me, and one beneath my knees. It was the time for luxury. My
favorite sheets were on my bed (like they are now.) Out the window,
the peace and beauty of the trees provided calm while the excitement
of siblings buzzed outside and through my bedroom door on the
opposite side of the room.
Except for the
co-sleeper, the biggest clue that something had changed was the baby
himself. We didn't need a ton of baby stuff. Except for some diapers
and wipes; I was all he needed. I don't think I even clothed him for
a week or so. It is amazing how so small a thing can become a new
gravitational center in the home and for my heart. My heart and
thoughts revolved around him. Our schedule and meals were different
because of him. My other children were in awe and overwhelmed with
love for him in their own ways. The feeling of him being in our house
and lives felt so exactly right. It still does. For me, the beauty of
this fourth child lies in his wanted-ness, and like a little mirror,
even from his earliest days, he reflected back all the peace and joy
I felt at his being here. Anxiety appeared here and there. “Is that
considered a retraction? Does his umbilicus look OK? Is that a little
bit of tongue-tie?” But every question was quickly resolved. He
certainly showed no signs of worry or insecurity. I only 3 times in
the last 6 months have heard even a hint of stress in his cry, and
those came only in the last few weeks, never in the first few. Never.
My little Bran; my
buttery, new, ruddy pink baby, all wrinkles and tiny bones, fuzzy
head, kissable cheeks. There is simply nothing else like feeling that
velvety body against your chest or in the crook of your arm. The
floppiness is a bit unsettling on the first child you cradle; the
fragility reminds you of the weight of responsibility now resting
upon you. But with Bran, the ginger movements I used with him simply
felt like reminders to pay attention to every soakable moment, to go
slowly on purpose because his life was already moving rocket-fast
enough. Nursing is best done while seated, comfortable, and adoring,
not on-the-go. I understood for the first time the use of the term
“mother-baby.” We were like one thing. It would have felt so
disruptive and even painful to me if I had had to share him and show
him off very much. No, we stayed in our nest, and that felt exactly
right. It was difficult to protect our time, but, having successfully
done it, I will be a mother-baby protection evangelist forever.
My other children
were permitted to join us regularly and get to know their new
brother, and I had a few moments of feeling like one thing with all
of them and with my husband. Bran's arrival made our invisible bonds
palpable again. I have often heard people say, “I cannot imagine
having any more children because I don't know that I have the
capacity for giving that many kids what they need.” I cannot
imagine it either if I didn't know from experience that growing
throughout pregnancy, like the placenta and baby, is a new store of
love. My mother heart has stretched along with my uterus every time I
have born a child to this family. I picture the Grinch heart bursting
the bounds of the x-ray frame.
I wish that these
scenes were a part of every baby's experience, of every mother's. But
I know they are not because of injustice, illness, death, and even
pure selfishness and evil. Watching Bran being loved by our family,
loving him myself every moment, I have often cried for babies and
families not having this experience. There are so, so many. I do
think that more families could have this experience if they felt the
permission to slow down and if they were not pressured by families to
“hand over that baby.” I really hate that phrase. While there are
many aspects of my life with Bran so far that have been lovely simply
because 1) he is our fourth child, and 2) I advocated for us as
mother-baby (things that can be enjoyed and utilized by many other
pairs), there are some very precious, Jessica-Bran specific rays of
goodness and beauty that I have to record.
I was sick when we
decided to try to get pregnant, and there is much evidence that now I
am well. We anticipated, with fear and trembling but also with faith
and hope, that life with a fourth baby may be the hardest thing we
ever had done. We knew we might be asking for a bedridden mother, but
we did it anyway. I took a lot of convincing even though I was also
the one arguing vigorously for us to do it! The beginning stages of
weaning from some medications and wading into the pregnancy were
terrible. I was afraid, and one of the worst nights of my life was
New Year's Eve 2014 when I was suddenly terrified that we had made an
awful mistake. I never, ever want to feel again that a child,
a real, human, heart-beating baby, could be a mistake. I woke up on
New Year's Day feeling like I had purged a virus. That fear needed to
be expressed so that it could begin to dissipate, but like any flu,
fighting it was painful and left me weak and humbled. One
thing I felt very strongly, like I had when I took my pregnancy test,
was that THIS baby was intended to be on the planet. THIS person
already had his or her days appointed by God.
By
the time we learned that this person was a boy and soon decided was
Bran, I was already feeling much better emotionally and physically.
Selecting his name was a great joy. He is a man named for women as
well as his father. I gave him a “B” name to remind me of some
dear women filled with qualities I hope all my children will display,
mainly bravery, godly boldness, compassion, kindness, and belief in
Jesus. His middle name is Raphael which means “God has healed me.”
I liked it because it is Italian like my husband and me and goes well
with the first name which is Irish (also like my husband and me.) I
hesitated a bit, though, to give him this name that declares God HAS
healed me. It's so emphatic. The word “heal” was important to me,
meaningful. Brendan and I now knew what it meant to long for healing
in THIS life. I did
not want to demand something from God by naming my child such a
thing. As I mulled it over, though, I kept thinking of my greatest
comfort in all my days dealing with POTS, “I am already safe and
healed in Christ. My life is already hidden in Heaven with him.”
The fact was: I was already healed; already, but not yet. So, we
named him Bran Raphael. And all my little Ninja Turtles were
thrilled.
At
counseling one day in Summer of 2014, I shared with my therapist that
I was harboring hope that perhaps a pregnancy would somehow reset me,
that the POTS would go as mysteriously as it had come. “That sounds
like magical thinking,” she responded. We
had no real reason to think the POTS would disappear. I had been told
by my neurologist that I'd probably have it forever. “But,” she
said after a moment. “Maybe it isn't so magical because we don't
know why it came, so maybe we don't know what might make it go.” I
carried these two thoughts around. I didn't get too excited or hold
hope that pregnancy would definitely cure me, but I allowed myself to
be excited to see what might happen.
As
of late in my third trimester, around June of 2015, I was no longer
having POTS symptoms. Doctors attribute this to the increased blood
volume, and that makes sense. Bran is now 6 months old, and with the
exception of occasions during illness or related to gallbladder
attacks when anyone might have heart rate problems, I have still not
experienced symptoms. Some women with POTS report that breastfeeding
seemed to keep their POTS at bay, but this is by no means universally
true. I will soon be speaking with my doctors to discuss a trial of
medication weaning. I never imagined feeling this good. The other day
I had to run up the stairs two extra times because I kept forgetting
things I wanted to bring down. I realized during my second trip that
every step was a huge blessing, and I took two stairs at a time-
gulping the opportunity like a kid offered a sip of soda.
The
threat of my POTS returning does hang over me like Wile E. Coyote's
anvil. I have cried pretty hard about it a few times, and I ask
regularly for prayer regarding that worry. I try, though, to not get
sucked into that hole. Why go down it when I can be enjoying the days
that it is not here? God HAS healed me.
I
never pictured my postpartum year with Bran being the healthy, busy
year that it has turned out to be. Bran's joyful, generous smiles
reflect the great gifts our family has been given, a sweet, sweet
baby and a healthy mommy. I am humbled to my core. He will smile at
you and then somehow smile deeper; he crinkles up his little nose and
shakes his little head as if to say, “I know! I can't believe it
either!” He loves to hear music and listens intently when I sing to
him of God who gives generously. I made up a little song that I used
to sing to Hazel for naptime when I was newly pregnant with Bran
based on Psalm 103:
He forgives all your sins and then
heals your diseases too.
He satisfies you with good things
so that your strength is renewed.
He redeems your life straight from
the pit
and puts upon your head
a crown of love and compassion.
Oh, my soul! Don't ever forget.
My
sweet Bran and all my dear children, I pray that you will learn these
truths and then, please, don't ever forget. God does great, kind
things. Life is full of difficulties and shocking, terrible troubles,
but our God even has use for those. Not a one of you would mean all
that you do mean to me, and I would not be able to love you as deeply
as I do without having lived through days of darkness and sorrow.
Seek his kingdom! Look for him always, and you will see amazing
things everywhere.
My
littlest Bran Raphael, sweet, smiling declaration of God's healing
love, I am so glad for all you represent to me, but you will live
your own life. Moving forward your story will be your own, and I will
only be a fraction of what you have to tell about. But, this needed
to be set down for you and for me. We cannot be mother-baby forever,
but I have enjoyed this time immensely. Please don't grow too
quickly. I cannot bear it.
Love,
Mommy
