Dear Benjamin,

I am sorry I keep calling you Seamus.  But you can be glad I am not mistakenly calling you Linus, at least.  That was the mistake I made with Seamus.

 
In just a few hours you will be three weeks old. Three weeks!  Three weeks seemed like ages when I was pregnant and waiting for you to be born.  And since you've been here...three weeks seems like ages when you never sleep longer than an hour and a half at a stretch!  Please won't you sleep a bit longer, little one?

I think perhaps today you began a growth spurt.  You've been inconsolable unless you're at my breast, and frankly my boy, you've drained me dry.  You're in the crib in my bedroom crying as I type this.  You fell asleep nursing my empty breast and the moment I laid you down you started sqwuaking again.  You've been fairly easy to please up until now, so I'm hoping it's just a growth spurt and not colic.

Yesterday I looked at you and thought you looked bigger.  Since the day you were born I have thought you look smaller than your brothers.  You certainly don't weigh less (you were 9lb 8oz at your appointment on Wednesday), or measure smaller, but your head is a different shape.  Your Grandma says you don't have the Thiessen head, like the other boys.  Do you have a Bergen head?  I've never thought those heads were particularly small, though.  Either way, your head seems a different shape than your brothers, and I think you look distinctly You.

Poor little Benjamin.  Your face broke out in baby acne yesterday and it looks so uncomfortable.  After your bath today it looked a little better, but you've been so upset off and on all day that your face is red and sweaty anyway...you're just a pitiful thing when your chin quivers and you're all worked up and red in the face.

The night before you were born, December 26th, I wasn't feeling too good.  I hadn't slept well for weeks-months, really.  Since Steven died.  At first it was grief.  Then nausea.  Then the call of nature.  Anyway, I thought the exhaustion was finally getting to me.  I'd been having contractions for two weeks, and nearly every evening for two weeks I thought, "Wow!  These are strong and close together!  This could be it!"  And then I'd go to bed...and wake up the next morning still pregnant.

But my Mom said the night before you were born she could tell something was different.  I hardly touched my dinner.  I escaped to the basement couch for a little while after dinner and just lay down.  My Mom came and visited for a bit.  The house was pretty loud and crazy with five extra adults.  Every one of your extended family came to meet you!  Grammy, Grandpa, Auntie Lissa, Auntie Sarah and Stephen, all came from California for Christmas, and your birth!  Your arrival was ordained cause for celebration.

I wanted to go for a bit of a walk in the evening.  I just didn't have it in me to sit still for very long.  When people started volunteering to walk with me I insisted I would go on my own.  I wasn't really planning on walking so much as shuffling.  I went down the street and around Barracuda Bay and home again.  Very. Slowly.  Contractions weren't regular, but I had several on my walk that were strong enough to make me pause.

I went to bed while everyone else watched an episode of Big Bang Theory.  I fell right to sleep and woke up at 4am when I felt some liquid gush out.  It was blood, so I called the hospital and they said I should come right in to have it checked out.  While we got some snacks together and Derek got dressed my contractions were about three minutes apart.  I woke my Mom and she gathered up her stuff to come along as the special guest for what I hoped would be your birth!

When we got to the hospital at 4:45am I was three cm dilated....only one cm more than a week previous, and not enough for them to keep me in the hospital.  They would have sent me home except I was still bleeding and they wanted to keep an eye on that.  By the end of my nurse's shift at 7am, the contractions had gotten so that I couldn't talk through them, and I was 5 1/2cm dilated.

I showered, and when the doctor came in to check me at 8am I was 6cm dilated.  I asked if he would break my water because I could feel it bulging and I remembered that once they broke my water with Seamus everything sped right up.  Dr. Basson agreed and broke my water on the next contraction.  I immediately got dizzy and vomited several times and nearly passed out.  I just barely stayed conscious to hear the doctor say I had gone from 6cm to 8 1/2cm when they broke my water.  If I hadn't been so woozy I would have jumped with joy.

You felt so funny in my belly after the doctor broke my water.  I could feel your little arms and legs just under my skin, like you were crashing around inside a collapsed tent - trying to find the exit.  The next half hour went by in slow motion.  I breathed nitrous oxide during contractions and your Grammy and Daddy stood on either side of me, just touching me and saying encouraging words.  I knew that now I was just waiting for the desire to push.  The doctor decided to go change into scrubs.

I began to get terrible charlie horse cramps in my butt, so I switched positions and got on my hands and knees.  Within moments I felt the need to push, but the nurse wanted to check me and couldn't while I was on my hands and knees.  I refused to go on my back, because that's when the cramps were the worst, but I was really in no position to argue.  I had already pushed through one contraction on my hands and knees and the nurse was getting worried.  I flipped around and the nurse pushed a little lip of the cervix back while I pushed through one more contraction.  I had just asked the nurse if she'd ever caught a baby when the doctor swooped in and I pushed for the third time.  Your head came out, and for one awful second I knew something wasn't right - the rest of your body wasn't coming out like it should.  I'd done this before, I knew that once your head was out the rest should be easy.  But I was still pushing!

Your shoulder was hung up a little, so the doctor repositioned me, flattened the bed and got your shoulder out.  Finally!  Three contractions and you were out.  December 27th, 8:45am, baby boy Thiessen #3 arrives.  A little purple, but a 9 on the Apgar scale.  8lb, 8oz.  A tiny, naked, frog-legged boy laying on my stomach.  You looked so different from your brothers!  We all said so.  Grammy noticed a birthmark on the back of your neck when they put the ointment on your eyes.  And later I noticed your ears look a little elvish, and lay flat against your head unlike your brothers'.  You lay with  me and nursed right away.  You latched on and just made yourself right at home for the first 35 minutes of your life outside the womb.  I think your Dad cut the umbilical cord, but those details are a bit fuzzy.

I was thrilled to meet you, and just so thrilled not to be pregnant anymore.  Don't get me wrong, Benjamin.  I was so happy to know you were growing inside me.  And so happy to have a third baby boy.  But pregnancy was exhausting.  All the vomiting, the lack of sleep, the discomfort.  You will never know, because you're a man.  And even if you were a woman, not all women have it as bad as me.  But pregnancy is just no fun for me.  There were about two weeks in the middle when I felt comfortable and beautiful and healthy.  And then the rest all just blurs together in one long uncomfortable fog.  After you were born I am sure I said something like, "HELLO little boy!!"  and then, "Hey everyone!!  I'm NOT pregnant anymore!!"  I was just that happy.

You didn't have a name at first, and that drove your Grandma crazy.  I was just happy to have you in my arms.  Your Dad and I got lots of suggestions for names that day as we introduced you to everyone.  Your brothers came to meet you first.  They both wanted to hold you.  Luke had asked Santa that you be born on Christmas, but you didn't cooperate.  You can imagine that waiting two whole days after Christmas just about made Luke blow a gasket.  Seamus couldn't stop saying delightful things like, "We just love the baby!" and, "The baby is so smart!"

Next we were visited by Grandpa Stan, the Aunties and Stephen, Kelvin and Jonathan Dyck (who said he'd never seen a baby so new before and was surprised that you didn't look "weird"), your Grandma and Papa, and Auntie Jaime.  The top two names on our list were Cedric and Theodore.  But since we couldn't agree between the two of us, and neither of the names really seemed to suit you, we threw both those names out the window and started from scratch.

The next morning, over Tim Horton's bagels, your Dad and I debated between Andrew and Benjamin.  Your middle name was arranged beforehand.  We looked at you.  We asked you.  You were Benjamin Harvey.  We filled your name in on the hospital paperwork just moments before sticking you in the car seat and heading home for the first time.  The day you were born it was so warm that everything was melty.  The day we took you home, we took you home in a blizzard!

Welcome to the world Benjamin Harvey.  Welcome to Manitoba in the middle of winter!  We will not be celebrating your birthday with pool parties.  But maybe we will make snowmen, or snow angels, or a snow fort or go winter camping or build snow lanterns!  You get to share December birthdays with your cousin Roehn, and your Grandma Helene!  And we will never forget that your first winter in Manitoba was also Grammy and Grandpa's first Manitoba winter experience (and boy did they experience the deep freeze!).

December 27, 2013

Benjamin Harvey Thiessen

8lb, 8oz

21.5 inches long

Born at 8:47am

Attended by my mom and Derek

Nine months, to the day, from the death of Plain Ol' Grammy.

December 23, 2013

December 27, 2013

 

Easter to Advent

During Lent we were mourning the loss of several loved ones and my husband gave me this Scripture passage to comfort me:  

"And as for the resurrection of the dead, have you not read what was said to you by God, 'I am the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob'?  He is God not of the dead, but of the living."

- Matthew 22:31-32

Now here we are, all the way in Advent and the same verse still hits me hard. My secret dark feelings that something will inevitably go wrong with this pregnancy and I will have to say good-bye to yet another loved one this year, are tested by this verse.  God is God not of the dead, but of the living.  Even as we say good-bye to our loved ones, God claims them as His, and promises us all new Life!  There is hope.  It seems dark even now, but light trickles in ... through Jesus.

This little life that I have nurtured for nearly nine months can be a source of secret fears for me, or I can acknowledge God's power in this baby's life and God's power in this baby's death, and this baby can be a reminder that ours is the God of the living...perhaps the joy of new life can relieve some of the pain of loss our family has experienced this year. 

My fear of death is selfish, after all.  I hate saying good-bye.  The hope I feel God pressing on me is the hope that these farewells we say here are temporary.  I must not take them as seriously as those who have no hope of seeing their loved ones again.  And...there are always more people to love.  We have to stay hopeful so we can keep on loving.  When we keep on loving, despite loss, we keep on hoping.

"'Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all." -Tennyson

Why I Dread

I started dreadlocks eight months ago when Steven died, and then Plain Ol' Grammy died.  The world turned upside down.  Grief besieged me.  Two lives ended, and nothing was good, or right, or beautiful.

My hair became an outward symbol of the tangled mess living ... and dieing ... are.  My hair became a sloppy-looking hope, that someday this mess will be manageable, live-able, maybe even sort of lovely.  It is a daily reminder for me that there's not always a "cure" for the mess.  Sometimes you just have to ride the fuzzy mess with your eyes closed and try to keep your feet under you.  And sometimes the mess will surprise you, and you will feel loved and beautiful despite the mess, and really know that this sort of love is best:  the love that loves despite, or even because of the tangles.

My dread locks are not what I expected.  Some days I wonder, "What have I done?!" but most days I think, "This is the best decision I've ever made".  They are a challenge to clean (yes I clean my dreads regularly!).  They do not allow my husband to give me a scalp massage (oh I miss head rubs!).  They get stuck in tree branches and in zippers and my children like to pull on them.  They are moody, they are frizzy, and they sometimes bring strange looks down people's noses in my direction.

I'm told dread locks take a while to mature.  When they're mature they require much less maintenance.  I imagine that's the way of most things.  My grief included.  Perhaps it too, will mature, and become more manageable.  Some days I can't believe that I go on living - without Steven in the world.  Without Grammy.  I'm always amazed that another day has gone by without the influence of that soul on this time.  I love that every time I catch my reflection in the mirror, my hair reminds me of my loved ones.  And happy coincidence: the conception of these dreads coincides with the conception of a third little Thiessen baby.

But most of all, these dread locks of mine are accurate.  This is a hair style that screams, "LAURA".  My life is a mess, my hair is a mess, but I have hope because God loves beautiful things, and can make beautiful things out of this crazy life, out of this crazy grief, out of this most crazy time.  I keep looking for beauty in the tangles.  I keep hoping.  And I accept the mess, the grief, the tangles, for now.  They are where I am.  They are okay - more than okay!  They are right.

For the Record

My kids are not all bad.  In fact, they are sometimes, truly, little angels.  Last week I had to go get some blood drawn (just the standard stuff during pregnancy).  The doctor told me to go over the lunch hour because (his exact words!), "It's usually dead over the lunch hour.  You can just walk in and out."  As a result of this advice, and since I had recruited babysitters two other times last week, I decided to take the kids with me. 

We had our normal morning lessons, piano practice, and then everyone got dressed and we jumped in the car.  We stopped by the clinic in howling winds and darted into the building clutching our jackets around our throats.  There was standing room only in the waiting room.  Perhaps it wasn't yet the lunch hour?  It was only 11:15.  I gave my doctor the benefit of the doubt and took the kids back out to the car, through the gale, over to WBS where we killed a little time visiting Derek and eating candy from the receptionist.

11:45, back to the clinic!  There were now exactly three empty seats, in the most boring waiting room in the world.  Not a single magazine or side table, and the only two microscopic windows covered by people sitting and waiting.  I sighed and decided I was not coming back another day.  Despite the fact that I had not prepared for a long wait, I had gone to all the trouble of getting everyone out of the house in inclement weather, and I absolutely positively HATE needles.  If I made it to the lab, the last thing I should do was leave again...chances are I could come up with at least ten more excuses not to have blood drawn by tomorrow.  So we took a number (76), and sat.

And sat.

And sat.

And the kids ate their pocketed candy from the receptionist.

And we sat.

And the kids wrote on the crumpled church bulletin I dug out of the bottom of my purse.

And we sat.

And the kids counted all the light bulbs in the ceiling.

And we sat.

And intermittently the children asked, "Is it our turn yet?" (we had come when the sign said they were treating number 62 - so we had a little lesson in counting).

And we sat.

And we sat.

For an hour and forty-five minutes!! With no books, no toys, no crayons, no snacks - straight through the lunch hour!  And my two boys did not bicker.  They did not whine.  They were as patient as Job.  When our number was finally called they quietly walked back to the cubicle with me and sat on the wall to watch the nurse draw my blood.  They were pretty fascinated and sat like statues, with great big eyes.  The nurse commented, "I didn't even know their were children in the waiting room!  They are so good!"

And they are!  But the reason they get three times the credit for being good, is because they were good when it really counted.  They were polite, patient, quiet and sweet at a time when it was a serious challenge for even an adult to remain remotely civil.

I took them out for happy meals after to celebrate. 

Merging, or Starting Fresh with Five?

 People in Winnipeg don't know how to merge.  There are only a few places in the entire city where it is necessary, since Winnipeg doesn't have any freeways.  And still, I expect people to get it: If you drive the speed of traffic, that gap is big enough for your vehicle!!  If you sit on the side of the road waiting for a gap at a total standstill, you will never find your opening....and I will be here, stuck behind you (stupid head).

I learned how to merge by necessity.  Bakersfield was a 20 minute freeway's ride away from Shafter, and Bakersfield was where the interesting stuff was happening (don't get me wrong - Shafter's volleyball in Mannel Park, and yearly 4th of July Parade were pretty darn fun, but Bakersfield had a movie theatre!).  If we wanted to get to the FUN, we learned how to merge early in our driving careers.

In relationships, merging is much more complicated because you can, and have to, expect the other drivers to take you into consideration.  It's not just about speeding up and jumping in.  Sometimes you just don't click.  And sometimes you spend so much time looking around at everyone else that you forget what you're supposed to be doing!

Our family is in the middle of merging.  It's pretty distracting, and sometimes difficult...for some of us.  Seamus has no trouble at all loving the newest member of our family.  He just adores the idea of having a baby around to kiss and hold.  Luke is pretty worried what another little brother is going to do to his lego projects, or his complicated maze of train tracks.  Derek has to schedule ten minutes into his lunch time just for saying good-bye to all the little ones.  And I somehow have to work a fourth person into my sleep schedule, my homeschool schedule, my menu planning and laundry...not to mention the current difficulties I have in just walking and sitting and sleeping while pregnant.

I've been using this metaphor of merging as I think about baby #3, and then I found this painting.  I painted it in November 2007.  Everyone on my Christmas list was in the middle of some "New Start", and I was considering painting each of them a unique symbol to represent a new phase of their life.  Kathy had a new baby, Amanda was pregnant, I was pregnant, Sarah just moved to Fresno, Mom had an empty nest, Dad was doing something just for fun (for maybe the first time EVER), Melissa was considering a big move...



Maybe this metaphor is more helpful in considering our family life with baby #3:  A new start.  It's not exactly that this baby has to jump in our busy lives.  It's that we all have to pull the car over to let in a new passenger, and start down the road again - start fresh - with Five.
 

35 Weeks

Wherever we Are

According to my yoga training I am supposed to attempt to be present in this moment.  I am supposed to take advantage of this moment by acknowledging it, appreciating it, being grateful for it.  Today is one of those days filled with moments I'd rather forget.  Moments when I lost my cool, or when my kids lost their cool, or when I felt so sick and tired I could hardly have gotten out of bed if it weren't for the one kid shouting about how the other kid just threw all the bath towels in the bath tub full of water...

How should I appreciate these terrifyingly disgustingly disturbing moments?

Like when you go outside to check on the dinner you've been planning and marinating for days, made special for company, only to find the BBQ appears to have (at some unnoticed point in the last half hour) been engulfed in flames and totally given up the ghost....dinner a burnt offering to the apparently vengeful BBQ god.

Or like when you're in the middle of shouting at your kid that if they had started practicing piano fifteen minutes ago instead of farting around they could have been done by now and they choose that moment to fall off the piano bench and hit their head with a sickening crunch on the floor?

Or like when your kid is begging and nagging and hounding you to let them eat more Halloween candy and you find yourself manipulating their naive enthusiasm to bribe them into doing something they should have done without being asked?

Or like when you haven't slept through the night in weeks and your kid is downstairs crying your name and you actually find yourself thinking, "Maybe I can pretend I don't hear him"...and you sort of hate yourself.

Oh Lord.  What I come to see after writing it all out (and crying to my mother-in-law over a cup of tea), is that I am thankful the kid didn't drown in the tub instead of the towels.  I am thankful the house didn't catch fire when the BBQ exploded.  I am thankful the head smashing didn't require a visit to the ER.  I am thankful that no matter how manipulative I am, my children still seem to know that I love them and I am so thankful I am not the only adult influencing their growth process.  I am thankful for the little boy who comes stomping up the stairs shouting, "I'm awake!!" after naptime and wants, before anything else, to give his baby brother a hug (yes, the baby in my belly).

I am thankful, but it is so hard to see past my anger and anxiety sometimes.  It is so hard to see past the blame and guilt I cast on myself, to the beautiful, forgiving, loving-ness my family and friends cast on me.  But it is there.

I learn again and again that, wherever we are - this moment or the next or next week or next year - I can find something for which to be thankful...even if it's only, "Whew, that could have been a lot worse".

First Snow; ten weeks to go!

With the snow here this morning, and hard frosts finishing off the last of my garden produce, it is time to take down the trampoline.  Of course the snow melted during the day, and didn't stick to anything that holds heat, but still we recognize it as the beginning of the end.  I have to admit, in some ways seeing snow this morning sent a thrill through me.  I've been telling myself, "The baby's not coming until Winter", and here is the first sign of Winter - literally on my doorstep!

So, perhaps the change in weather is what prompted my "nesting", or perhaps it was just the fact that things are moving along so fast in the basement (we got carpet this last week!).  But this weekend we have moved a lot of furniture, including moving the crib and rocking chair into our bedroom!  That was really exciting, so of course I had to empty out a drawer for baby's little onesies, buy teeny tiny diapers and pack my hospital bag.  Derek set up the boy's bunk beds which is just thrilling them no end (especially the idea that they may be able to jump from the top bunk onto a bean bag chair...mommy's nervous about this one), and we are getting homeschool books and activities sorted and organized - which means the top of the piano and the dining room table are at last clearing off!  

Hurray for nesting!  Hurray for snow!  Hurray for only 10 weeks to go!

26 Weeks

Counting down the days until we can officially say we're in the third trimester.

It doesn't seem there's much else to count to these days since baby is pretty well developed, just growing bigger every day.  Except maybe I could count how many times each day baby has hiccups...'cause that's just ridiculous!  Poor little guy can hardly get a nap without being woken by the hic-um-ups.  Neither can I.

By the way, how weird is it that I'm growing a penis inside my body?  Weirds me out, every time I think about it.  Just goes to show that men need women right from the very beginning.  Even to grow a penis.

Third trimester here we come!

Dear little corn cob

After a long hot summer of watering and weeding and watching, perhaps my favorite thing to harvest is sweet corn.  On the BBQ.  Fresh off the stalk.  Still in it's husk.  Mmmm.

This week we are told our dear little one is the size of an ear of corn, inside my uterus that has expanded to the size of a soccer ball!!

Dear little corn cob, we already love your little ears.  We love to watch and feel your movements (even when they're keeping me awake).  We are happy to watch your silk ripen, and wait for that cold Winter day when we get to meet you face to face.  We all love corn, but not as much as we already love you.

What a wonderful treat to harvest, prepare and enjoy sweet corn grown in our own backyard!  What a delight to be so intricately connected to the process of growth from the very beginnings of a tiny seed, to our growing family's table fellowship.  What an honor to know you before you become the fullest You.  To know you while you're still a part of me.

24 weeks.

Drumroll Please..........

 

 

It's a Boy!

Dear little tomato,

A typical bedroom scene:  yoga mat with race car and bicycle, tiny smudgy hand prints on the mirror.

The website says you are the size of a tomato the same week my tomatoes in the garden are finally coming ripe!  We haven't gotten to eat any of our tomatoes because your big brother Seamus keeps picking them and eating them, or feeding them to Linus.  You've heard Linus barking, but what you don't know is that Linus loves you a ton - even though you're not born yet!  Linus loves your big brothers as his own brothers and waits at the door for them when they are gone.  Luke and Seamus have started taking turns feeding Linus his scoop of dog food morning and night.  They are going to be excellent, responsible big brothers for you my little tomato.

Right now you weigh about half a pound.  Gain eight more pounds and you will be exactly the same weight as your brother Luke, the day he was born.  Half a pound makes me imagine half a block of butter.  You weigh the same as my chocolate chip cookie dough recipe calls for.  Granted, I usually substitute some of that with peanut butter or oil.  When you grow up a little more you will get to try those cookies.  It's your Grandma Helene's recipe.  Your Dad's favorite.

We are nearly halfway through your incubation.  That reminds me of the caterpillars we watched this Spring.  They grew and grew and GREW, and then they incubated.  They sat in those cocoons for 2 long weeks.  Those weeks seemed interminable to those of us waiting for butterflies.  But they were worth it.  The butterflies came out and were so beautiful!  We are looking forward to you coming out of your cocoon as well. 

When you come, tomatoes will be long gone in the compost pile and in our bellies.  Your brothers will be even bigger and better helpers.  Linus will want to sniff your soft little head.  And fresh warm cookies will definitely be on the menu in the deepest part of Winter.  Your Grammy and Grandpa will be here from California to meet you for the first time.  And we will celebrate the New Year with you as our special gift for 2014, little tomato.  Grow and grow and grow.  You're not quite ripe, yet.

To the park

Some days it is all I can do to get the boys up and get cold cereal in front of everyone.  Some days are better and I can get everyone dressed!  Some days are even better and I can get everyone fed, dressed, and to the park!  Today was that day.  But of course someone needed to pee and we had to go home after only an hour....but we tried!  And I think everyone had fun.  It was a beautiful day to be outside.  Sunshine is so therapeutic.

cottonwood puffs blowing in the air

Seamus says, "I'm sleeping with mine cookie, Mommy!"