The Darkness Before the Light

Almost exactly a year ago, I remember sitting with a dear friend at the park and confiding in her something that I was really afraid to verbalize up until then.  While watching the kids play and sipping on our chocolate shakes, I said, "I'm afraid that I will never have a strong connection with Gavin." 

There were several reasons for me to say this.  He always had gravitated toward Ryan, we are so much alike that we often butt heads, but mostly I was afraid that I had lost that critical bonding time with him when he was so small.  I went into a deep, dark postpartum depression that scared me to the core.  The truth of the matter is, I don't remember a lot of those earlier days with Gavin.  I think the memories are fuzzy as a way of protecting me, because as most of my friends and family know, my memory is like a steel trap (except for things I need at the store or errands I should run).  I remember the first few weeks when my mom stayed with us, but after that it kind of becomes a haze of colicky nights and mastering the art of avoiding other people.  There were also a lot of other stressful things happening in our lives at that time with my work, family health, etc...that certainly didn't add to the situation.  I have a few memories that were bright moments of perfection that pierced the darkness that surrounded my soul.  I remember things like going to the kiddie park, trips to Kansas City and visiting family, but the day-to-day stuff, the place where life really happens, is kind of a blur.   Not everything was bad, I mean, how can it be with a baby as precious as Gavin (once the colicky part was done).  There were days that were better than others, I have pictures where I can see real and genuine smiles, but there's a lot where you can also see a smile that isn't really there. 

Gavin's first laugh.  This I remember.

Thank God I was with it enough to plan this.  I mean, how cute are they?

Gavin's first Christmas.  More real smiles from both of us.

This picture made me sad.  This is an example of the blur of this time.  I cannot remember Brennon's room ever being arranged this way.  I just kept staring at it and wondering if I had a hand in it. 

I have started praying in the last year or so that God would give me back the memories without showing me the darkness that I was living in during that time.  It's the kind of darkness that if light was shined on it, the light wouldn't make the darkness disappear, it would just illuminate all of the ugliness that the darkness had caused.  Thank God that I had a friend who cared about me enough to resist the way I was pushing her [everyone] away, and suggest that I consider my options as far as medication*.  I couldn't go back though, and by the time that cracks of light began to shine through, I had missed a lot.  I pray that I am a natural enough mother that I was as good to him during that time as I should have been. 

When Gavin was 10 months old, I was rocking him and I remember I started singing to him.  It was such a breakthrough and I was crying because I felt like I really wanted to sing.  It wasn't a halfhearted rendition of Twinkle, Twinkle anymore.  I wanted to sing to my boy in a way that he would know that his momma loved him.  We picked up from there.  I couldn't think about everything I had missed. 

My husband was amazing with Gavin.  He must have just known exactly what he needed and gave it to him.  They were a natural fit.  My little boy who shared my looks had a heart that belonged to his one and only, his daddy.  I am so glad they have that bond, and it's hardly fair for me to be jealous of it, because the connection I have always had with Brennon (Ryan's mini-me) has been strong.  At this time, Ryan was also staying home with the boys during the day while I worked.  (And then he worked at night....go, husband!  I mean, I can't imagine working and then working some more.  He's a champion!)  So it seemed natural that Gavin would be close with him, but it still hurt my feelings that every time he got hurt or scared, he never wanted me.  He wanted his daddy.  But that day in the park, I said what I was really afraid of, and it just made me more scared.

Although I'm going to stop here, please don't be sad for me.  I want you to understand my story, my journey, where and how far I've come.  Because the story is far from over, and I think you needed to see this part, because this part has shaped me, so that when I talk to you about what happens next, you will smile along with me too.


*I am in no way suggesting that medication is the necessary treatment for everyone who experiences postpartum depression.  I am simply stating that it is a very real medical condition and ignoring it or pretending it is not there will not make it go away. 

The Fight That Gets Us Fired Up, Part One.

Working mom vs. Stay-at-home mom.  I don't understand why we need to fight about it.  I really don't.  I think that our world works better with both of us in it, and we should be discussing instead of talking at each other.  Here's the deal, I've done them both.  Mommy guilt is a part of both, and maybe that's what motivates moms to bash the other side, to help them feel better about their own decisions.  I don't know, but I have some thoughts about both that I believe are worth sharing, so that's what I'm here to do.  This post is part one, the stay at home mom of one.

When I was pregnant with Brennon, the hubs and I made plans to move to Kansas.  I'm not going to go into all the details, but the fact was the reason that we were moving was to better our family financially and to make it possible for me to be home with our child(ren in the future).  I was willing to give up my highly desired teaching position at a prominent district in order to be home with my baby.  It was in my heart to do it.  Did I work hard to start my career?  Absolutely.  Did I love teaching?  Of course.  Did I feel like I was taking one in the gut for feminists everywhere?  Um, no.  I also didn't feel like I was persuaded by some secret army of housewives to become one of them.  It was a decision that Ryan and I made together.  It was personal.  I wanted to take the time to savor each and every moment with my son for whom we had waited and waited and waited. 

So, with a three and half week old baby, we moved and got settled and I enjoyed my time at home.  I spent time having fun with my boy.  I didn't make mommy friends, I wasn't as productive as I should have been, and I didn't really think about how my staying at home effected anyone else inside or outside my circle.  I had a much harder time being away from my family than I ever thought I would.  I would second guess my decisions sometimes and wonder if I was doing things wrong.  I probably watched much more television than I should have.  I would ask my one friend to watch him sometimes on the weekend for a few hours, because he was easy and I wanted to have time to just be a couple.  She was great and told me she didn't care, because she had a son who loved Brennon.  I was not a perfect mom at all, but I know I was a good mom, and I loved my boy more than life itself. 

I remember so much about that year with my Brennon.  I remember rocking him, singing to him, watching Baby Einstein and talking about what was on the screen, reading, reading, reading, and more reading.  I remember details about that year, because I'm that crazy lady who feels like I cannot forget anything, because life just won't be as important if there aren't 15,000 pictures to document each year (I'm still working on this!)  I did things like take him to the pumpkin patch and the Christmas parade, because he was sure to remember it all, right?  It wasn't perfect, and I remember thinking that life with a baby was really hard sometimes, but it was my life and I didn't want to change it.  B was such a good baby, and at some point during that year, I remember Ryan's uncle saying, "Oh, he's an easy baby.  She's going to want another one soon." 

See, I told you he'd remember it....and he looks thrilled, right?  His friend, Drake, is the son of my one and only friend that I mentioned.  They are still good friends to this day!

I didn't want to go back to work, but I knew I had to for the financial well-being of our family.  I was sad.  Really, really sad.  I cried a lot.  I cried some more and told that one friend that I was going to miss everything.  I found a great sitter, and I felt a little better.  I told myself it would be okay, because I had the perfect schedule if I did have to work, and then a few days before I went back to work, I found out we were pregnant again.  So, I cried some more.  Not about having another baby.  I wanted that (as predicted by Uncle Right-on-the-Nose).  But I cried because I was hormonal and leaving my baby and probably also because of things like the cankles were coming back or worrying about if my new teacher friends would like me or my hair looked funny today or that pizza didn't have enough sauce.  All valid concerns during pregnancy, but still, what kind of mom would I be leaving my son everyday? 

Now, I'm not judging, remember this was called part one.  Guess what?  There's more.  In fact, there are two more parts to this.  That may seem like too much, but I am certain that every mom out there has either felt or fought from feeling many of the emotions that I will address, and in the next one, it gets real.  I'm going to be completely honest about more than what I'm comfortable with, but what I know needs to be put out there.  Stay tuned...

My Gift of Remembrance

It always rains on April 2nd. Or at least it has for the last ten years. I know you probably think that's some crazy statistic that I made up, but I promise that it is not. I know this because the rain is a gift to me. A gift of remembrance as my firstborn son celebrates another birthday with Jesus. When you lose a child, it goes against the natural order of things. It's a make or break time in your life in so many ways...in your faith, your relationships, your hope. At first it was unbearable, and Ryan and I were starting our married life together and clinging to each other with absolute desperation as we endured the horribleness of the situation. We went back and forth with being mad at God, having questions, and feeling like we just wanted Him to hold us in the palm of his hand. And he did. Through it all, he did. And now, all this time has passed and while the hurt has faded, we still have Connor Patrick Wall engraved on our hearts, just as He has us engraved in his hand. The rain is mine though, and I welcome it. When we were finally blessed with our other children, it seemed as if the rest of the world breathed a sigh of relief. Oh good, now they have children, now we don't have to bring up the uncomfortable situation of the son that they lost. The elephant was out of the room, left the building, and had pretty much traveled out of this country. I'm so blessed with Brennon, Gavin, and Fletcher. Don't get me wrong, I have accepted the situation, and I know that someday we will be reunited and my children here will meet their older brother. But on this day, I want to remember, I don't want to forget. And so on this day, Jesus reminds me that it is okay to cry for him, but only for a time, because he is so busy having another amazing birthday celebration which would put all my perfectly planned parties to shame. And on earth a party better than one of mine might irk me, but for my boy, it brings me hope and a perfect peace. Mommy loves you. XO

10 Years Later....

Tonight is the ten year anniversary of the night that Ryan proposed to me.  Our story doesn't begin there of course, and maybe I'll cover the beginning another time, but for now, I would like to reminisce about the moment I became Mrs. Wall-to-be.  Ryan and I had been dating for about a year and a half (minus a few months where "we were on a break"--no copy girl involved for you Friends fans).  I had a feeling that it was coming for a while.  I knew that it wouldn't happen at Christmas, because we spent it with family, both his and mine, and proposing around a lot of people we know just isn't Ryan's style.  So, New Year's seemed like the perfect time.  New beginnings, romantic dinner, perfect...right?  Well, so I thought. 

Aren't we fancy?  We look so young!!!

We went to dinner at Top of the Rock in Branson (Remember it?  It was great!)  We were all dressed up and feeling like we were such mature adults, as we were at 21 and 22.  (HA!)  The restaurant already had an intimate feel, but Ryan also had us seated at a table with an excellent view of the lake.  Gorgeous view, semi-private location, seemed like a good spot to me.  I don't remember what we ate, but I do remember we had creme brulee for dessert.  Not surprising that I remember dessert, I know.  Dessert would have been a nice time to propose, no?  No.    I remember we even walked out onto the balcony after we ate even though it was ridiculously freezing!  Perfect opportunity, so I thought.  Nope.  I was starting to get mildly annoyed, but didn't want my future husband to see that, because frankly until I got the ring on my finger, I was a little bit afraid of letting him see my crazy side.  Not that he hadn't seen hints, but really what girl wants to go all crazypants pre-engagement.  So, I kept my cool, because that feeling in my gut told me to just be patient, it was coming.  We walked back inside the restaurant before the frostbite kicked in and enjoyed the view a few more moments so that he could pull at that ring and pop the question.  Or not.  So we finished up got in the car and drove back to Springfield to Ryan's apartment. 

"Mind if we just hang out at home and watch the ball drop?", he says.  "No, of course not" (you big jerkface), I reply,  I know he hadn't done anything wrong, I was just so sure of the fact that it was the night.  So sure that when my cousin Kristi offered to pay me double to babysit on New Year's Eve, I had told her no, because I knew that it would have been worth it.  I thought it would have anyway.  We get back to Ryan's apartment, and I'm thinking "Hey, forget this, I'm not staying all fancy to sit on the couch for the next three hours and watch some old geezer count down to the new year."  So, I followed Ryan's lead and changed into sweats and threw my hair up in a ponytail (just to be clear, he didn't have a ponytail, if he had, I wouldn't have been hoping for a proposal from him).  It was a fine evening once we got there and got comfy, just not anything fabulous.  We sat and cuddled on the same couches that sit on our living room now (four moves later).  We drank hot chocolate, and we watched Dick Clark.  Let's see it was 2001, so who was on?  Probably Jessica Simpson or Pink or some other artist that was not too memorable, but then again, I may have been thinking about something else. 

About 10 minutes to midnight, Ryan says that he has to go to the bathroom really bad.  Wow, can this night get any more romantic?  He's back in the bathroom forever, and pretty soon I'm thinking that he better at least hurry up enough to get out here and kiss me as we ring in 2002.  So, I tell him to hurry up, they're already counting.  Could I get more annoyed at this point?  Well, I hear the door open and there are only 3 seconds left as he walks down the hallway and comes around the corner in his white Saturday Night Fever tuxedo holding a dozen roses and drops to his knee as the clock strikes midnight, and I hear the best words I had ever heard in my life, "Marry me, please, be my wife."  YES!!!!  The fireworks blasting across the television had nothing on the ones that were going off in my heart.  He asked me!  I knew he would!  It couldn't have been more like him in any other way.  It was just for us, it was special, and it is our story forever.  I could never have foreseen the ups and downs that would follow, but the answer I gave him was the most certain answer I've ever given, and I would say yes again a million times over.  I am a very lucky girl!