The Loaded Question

We all know there are a few loaded questions in our lives, and the one we've been getting alot lately is ...How are you?

It's one of those questions when you survey the context and the situation and the relationship and maybe reply back with another question...How much time do you have?

That's how I feel right now (I started writing this post last Monday).

People have been so kind and gracious and concerned and they want to know how we are.

I appreciate that, truly.

The problem is, it's a tough question to answer and I want to answer honestly, but sometimes I don't know if the person asking can handle the authenticity and vulnerability that may come with my honest response.

And the truth is, you may get a different response depending on the day.

So today I'm going to try to answer that "How are you" question honestly, assuming the person asking the question can handle the level of real and raw that is going to be thrown at them, assuming they can handle the truth and hold space for my grief, while also fully knowing the pain and the grief do not discount my faith and trust in the Lord. He is in this story, I know He is. He has to be, otherwise I would not be standing where I am today.

But consider yourself warned, my heart feels heavy today and this is just an uncensored free write.

So here goes.

The past few days have felt rough and hard and painful, and I've found myself just questioning God as to WHY we have to walk through this, WHY has He chosen us to endure another NICU stay, WHY does this have to be part of Conor's story, part of our family's story...and my heart just aches at the WHYs.

This past weekend at church when the time came to do the meet and greet with those around you, I literally bolted up from my seat, declaring I had to go to the bathroom, which I did, but Peter asked, really? Right now? And as I walked to the bathroom, I just thought, being here feels really hard. It's hard to be in a space where I don't know every single person in the room. It's hard to see parents with their new babes, who don't know that our new babe is in the hospital. It's hard to be in a space where not every person knows our story as I don't want to pretend. I don't want to say, Hi I'm Malia with a smile on my face because in that moment I don't feel like smiling, in that moment I want to drop to my knees and cry out to the Lord instead of shaking my neighbors hand.

And this morning Ryan asked to look at photos of himself when he was a baby. So we started at the beginning with my late stages of pregnancy, to his birth, to the first few months at home, and I can't quite put into words the emotions I was feeling as I looked at those photos. It was 3 years ago, yet I'll hold onto this birth story and revel in it for the rest of my days, truly. To have a full term, vaginal birth baby after a c-section, preemie baby feels like the greatest gift, and even now after walking through Conor’s birth story, it truly feels like an even greater gift!! And I'm just filled with a tremendous amount of gratitude for that gift. To see the pain on my face with each contraction, to see the pure joy on my face after I pushed him out of my vagina (BIG DEAL people!!) and then when they placed him on my chest. The pure satisfaction and exhaustion I felt that night will stay with me forever. And then to leave the hospital literally 24 hours after having him WITH my baby is a memory I will never forget!

And I'm realizing now my experience with Ryan was a true anomaly and my normal is a c-section, not being able to see or hold my baby immediately after they're taken out of me, a lengthy hospital stay for me and a lengthier NICU stay for baby.

And I think I just figured since my second birth story (Ryan VBAC, 38 weeker) was so different than my first (Jack c-section, 33 weeker) that my third would more resemble the second.

But boy was I wrong. And what I envisioned was so far off from the reality, and that feels hard today.

My normal is truly so abnormal and that feels hard today.

Just last night the boys were asking about my owie and they wanted to see my scars. And no that is not a mistype. I do indeed have two scars, plural. Jack and Conor each have their own, lucky them right?? And I said Jack this faint one is when they cut me open and took you out and this one is for when they cut me open and took Conor out. And Ryan was like, and what about me mama? And I said, and you came out the normal way via my vagina. What a lovely teaching moment right?? Haha!

This past weekend, as we all gathered in Conor's room as a family of five, and as the boys clambered all over Conor to get closer to him, to touch him, to kiss him, to shhh him, I just thought, this is how it should be...Conor with his brothers and mama bear protecting him from his big brothers grasps. This is exactly as I envisioned it, yet this story is nothing like I envisioned it.

I envisioned I would be the one changing his diaper, feeding him (I guess technically I am, but let's be real, breast milk via a feeding tube is a little different than directly from the breast), comforting him, bathing him, dressing him.

And don't get me wrong, I've been able to do all of those things, but I'm just not his primary caretaker, and that feels strange.

And some days it all feels really unfair, yet Conor's exactly where he should be and it pains me that that place isn't in our home and in my arms.

And the truth is, sometimes I forget I have a third child, yet every few hours I'm reminded with my full breasts that my arms are empty. And every few hours as I sit down to pump, I'm reminded that my baby is not in my home.

So to answer your question, today feels hard. Today I am listening to worship music and soaking up God's promises like I need air to breathe. Today I am clinging to His faithfulness as I try to make sense of all of this. Today I am trying so hard to focus on the bigger story, on His story, as the little things like hospital visits and childcare and work logistics feel overwhelming.

Today the tears stream down my cheeks as I lift up my empty arms to the Lord, knowing that He will fill them with his love, his mercy, his grace.

And that is always enough. He is enough.