Healing.

Bert turned four  months old Wednesday. As I mentioned the other day, where does the time go? In that same post, I published some photographs my good friend Maggie was kind enough to take of our family when we were in West Virginia for Thanksgiving.

This marks the third set of photographs Maggie has taken for us. She took our engagement photos in 2017, our wedding photos in 2018, and now our family photos in 2019. All three sets of these photos are beautiful, make me happy when I see them, and are blessings to us. However, the most recent set of family photos has one adjective associated with them that the other two don't have: they are healing.

If you read my post about the birth of Bert and my expectations of it versus the reality of the situation (found here), you might remember that the one thing that truly pushed me over the edge was that we didn't get any photos of Bert in the hospital. As I wrote:

"But on Tuesday afternoon, two days after Bert's birth, I was standing by his bassinet in our room looking at him as he was lying in between the jaundice lights with his sunglasses on. I believe we had just found out he failed another hearing test. Suddenly, the photographer popped in and said she heard we were checking out that day and did we want to schedule photos for Bert? I just looked at him, then looked at her and told her that our son had some health concerns and it just wouldn't be possible for him to do it. So she said she'd just cross us off her list and get to the other babies who were also scheduled to be discharged that day.

The normal babies, you know." 

One thing that I want to add to what I wrote at the time, now that some months have passed, is that the photographer's response to me was part of what hurt so badly. It just hit me one day a few weeks ago that that lady never told me she was sorry to hear that Bert wasn't well. She literally just acted like he was taking up time on her list and she was relieved to be able to cross him off so she could move on with her day. I'm sure she didn't mean to be hurtful, but, you know, it hurt.

As time as passed, the wound has gotten less painful. But there are still times that it pops up. Just the other day we received a lovely picture frame for Bert's baptism (thank you Daniel and Catherine!) and the stock photo in the frame showed a baby with angel wings lying peacefully with his eyes closed. Joe remarked that we could never get Bert to pose like that, and I agreed with him that right now our son could never do that, but I also gently reminded him that that picture was a newborn photo.

Along with Maggie's photos, we were blessed to have Joe's sister Caroline come and visit us. Although she is not a photographer by trade (she is a stylist and business owner in Nashville), you'd never know it by the beautiful photos she also took of Bert.

Because of Maggie and Carrie, something that really hurt my heart and weighed me down was healed. I can't put into words how grateful I am to both of them for their kindness and time.

Photo by Caroline -- September 2019 

Photo by Caroline -- September 2019

Photo by Caroline -- September 2019

Photo by Caroline -- September 2019

Photo by Caroline -- September 2019

Photo by Margaret Schaad Photography -- November 2019

Photo by Margaret Schaad Photography -- November 2019

Photo by Margaret Schaad Photography -- November 2019

Photo by Margaret Schaad Photography -- November 2019

Photo by Margaret Schaad Photography -- November 2019

Photo by Margaret Schaad Photography -- November 2019

Photo by Margaret Schaad Photography -- November 2019

Month Four.

It is hard to believe that it is already December and Advent is upon us. It's equally hard for me to believe that tomorrow Bert will be four months old. It's a cliche, but it is for a reason, that time flies. The time between Bert's birth in early August and now seems like it has gone by in a blur, but it also seems like so much time has passed. I can't figure out when we switched from short sleeve onesies to survive the heat to long sleeve fleece sleepers and coats when we go outside. It's never one day, it seems, but a series of moments: first you exchange your shorts for sweatpants, then you put away your flats and pull on your boots, then you find a cardigan, then your winter coat. A series of shifts so light they almost don't seem perceivable until you open your eyes one morning and realize you've turned your heat on and it's cold when you get out of the shower.

We have settled into a routine here, in a manner of speaking. I'm still very much baby-led: Bert eats when he's hungry and sleeps when he's tired, and in between we read, play, stretch, sing, go to the library, get our groceries, and run errands. We are blessed that Bert is mostly a cheerful, easygoing little fella. How his life started seems to have left no permanent mark on him, or, if it has, I pray that the mark it left is remembering how his parents never left him and how many people love him.

For myself, I am doing all right and try and take things day by day. I have not experienced the sadness and hopelessness that can accompany post-partum depression, but I have realized these last couple of months that my post-partum symptom is anger. I am quick to get angry and quick to stay angry, and I have a short temper. I really hold on to offenses and am unable to forgive and forget. The worst part is I'm the kind of person who, when I get angry about one thing, easily slides into recalling all the reasons I am angry until I am just one big ball of uncontrollable anger. I don't think this is my traditional behavior, but I have absolutely recognized it in myself these past weeks. I am not proud of it. I wish it weren't so. I do my best to control it, but sometimes (frequently) I fail miserably. I know it is taking a toll on Joe, and I'm sure it's taking a toll on my other family members and friends and probably randoms in the community that come into contact with me, too. Sometimes when I think about it I feel overwhelming guilt and quickly begin to beat myself up. The guilt compounds the anger, and I'm right back to where I started. I wish I could say that I'll start counting my blessings and realizing how lucky I am in life and that would take the anger away, but I know that it might not. So instead I'm trying to do those things while also taking life on a moment-by-moment basis and giving myself space and permission to mess up.

I think that because I was fortunate to recover physically pretty quickly from Bert's birth that I really didn't and haven't given myself time to fully recover in other ways. I know Bert is four months old now, but on the other hand Bert is only four months old. And this also corresponds with the holiday season which brings its own stress. I know in America it seems we give mothers three months to get it together, but I promise you that it's not possible. At the end of three months, at least in our case over here, it seems I finally got into a semblance of a routine and caught up on life and just now am becoming able to tackle my own mental and emotional health and coming to terms with the fact that I had a baby. And I'm not teaching this year after all I went through to become a teacher. And all my friends and family live 500 miles away. And I've got laundry to do and a house to clean and groceries to buy and dinners to make. And am I a good mother and I'm still Joe's wife not just a mom and oh my gosh did we forget about the dogs because they're our family too and I'm pretty sure there's a Palmetto bug over there and how do I always forget to buy nail polish remover and holy crap Christmas cards.

Some of you may be reading this and rolling your eyes and internally chastising me for being a complainer. You may be thinking that so many people have it so much harder than I do, and man, you'd be so right. As I said before I do try to remember how fortunate I am, but sometimes I really come up short. So sometimes all I can do is share how I am honestly feeling and continue to pray for the grace and strength to do better.

Whatever you're struggling with this season, I'd be happy to pray for you. One thing I have learned for sure is that everyone (E V E R Y O N E) has something they're worried about, that is causing them stress, or that is exhausting them. Maybe your particular battle and mine are two different battles. Perhaps you're praying for the very thing that I have. Perhaps you don't even know why you're so tired or angry or upset. But remember: we all carry weight differently. Your burden might seem easy to carry to someone else, but you carry it differently. And that's okay.

Some beautiful photos of our family recently captured by the practically-perfect-in-every-way Maggie!

In the Morning

I just learned this morning that today is World Mental Health Day. Honestly, I wish every day were World Mental Health Day, as I think that we would all be a lot better off if we considered our mental health as important as our physical health. I think we would all be a lot better off if we treated mental illnesses as seriously as we treat physical illnesses like cancer. I think we would all be a lot better off if we felt as comfortable saying "I have an appointment with my therapist" as we do saying "I have an appointment with my dentist." I've written about mental health before, most recently concerning Bert's birth here.

After finding out about today being devoted to mental health, I thought it would be a perfect time to write about something I've been thinking about a lot lately, and that's what advice I would give a new mom. Let me say first that there is NO END to the amount of information out there that is available to new moms. Let me rephrase that and say: pretty much there is NO END to the amount of people out there who feel the need to tell you what you should be doing or should not be doing or questioning you or your methods. Truly, your mother, mother-in-law, neighbor, best friend, that lady at church, that woman at moms' group, granny in the grocery store, blogger on the internet (ahem), and random dude without kids "but I have two nephews!" (<-- true story) all have opinions about what you should do or not do.

And to that I say, Blessed are they who keep their mouths shut, for they will be able to visit baby Bert. :)

(I should also say at this time that the person in my life who is likely most qualified to give advice but who has truly kept her mouth shut unless explicitly asked for her input is my mom. Maybe I'll write more about that later since I have really appreciated that.)

The two best pieces of advice I have gotten are from my good friends and fellow moms of littles, Maggie and Catherine:

Maggie -- You are your baby's mom, and you know what's best.
Catherine -- Don't read anything on the internet.

So, with that in mind, I am going to tell you my advice for new moms whose babies aren't mine, and I'm going to do it here on the internet haha. But in all truthfulness, if asked for my input, and with today being World Mental Health Day, this is what I would tell any new mom:

Things always look better in the morning. 

My hardest times mentally so far as a mother have been during overnight feedings with Bert. I'm awake and alone, I am completely exhausted, it's dark, I have no one to talk to. Those things create the perfect conditions in which a storm of anger, doubt, and depression brews. When I think back over the past two months of mothering Bert to the times I've felt most hopeless, angry, and sad, they have mostly all been while breastfeeding him at 2:30 a.m., 3:45 a.m. or 5:15 a.m. Those are the times when I've thought to myself that I can't do this, that I'm a terrible mother, and that I am just so upset and sad. Those are the times when the anger inside me gets stirred up to a point that I just want to scream.

I do think it's important to deal with the underlying causes of those feelings and to talk to someone who can help. (I do.) But I would also say that in the morning when the sun is up and I've showered and had a coffee, those feelings that I had overnight seem so much more manageable. Even if the next night it all happens again -- and those feelings are very real -- I can tell myself that everything so far points to things feeling more manageable in the morning. And that gives me hope.

So if you are a new mom -- or honestly, any kind of person because I think this could really apply to anyone -- that is the advice I would give you: Things always look better in the morning.

That, and you are your baby's mom, and you know what's best, so don't read anything on the internet. :)

When you find yourself freaking out, picture Bert looking at you like this. "As if!"

Dignity in Diapers.

Joe and I were trying to calculate the other day how long it took us to go through a box of 172 diapers. We think maybe about 2.5 weeks. That's an awful lot of diapers to go through in one day.

Because I stay home with Bert all day, sometimes it feels like all I do is change diapers and feed him. Rinse and repeat. Some days it seems no sooner do I change a diaper than it's time to change one again. Sometimes it can feel, well, monotonous at best, defeating at worst, to reflect on my day and realize just how much of it is devoted to changing Bert and cleaning him up.

I recently read an article (and for the life of me I can't remember where, but I'm looking all over for it to give proper credit) that basically said that taking care of the hygiene of someone who can't take care of it for themselves gives that person dignity. At first I was like, well, yeah, that makes sense: someone with dementia who used to be able to do that but now can't take care of his own hygiene, it would give him dignity as a person to have someone else lovingly do that for him. It would be very hard -- and make someone very vulnerable -- to not be able to clean himself up after going to the bathroom, change his own dirty clothes, or give himself a bath. 

But, like, Bert -- I mean it's my JOB to care for him, right? He's just a baby. I mean, he's just small so that's why he can't take care of his own hygiene ... OH, RIGHT. Just because Bert has never been able to do it for himself doesn't mean that it's any less holy to do that work for him. I think it would be very hard -- and make him very vulnerable -- to not be able to clean himself up after going to the bathroom, change his own dirty clothes, or give himself a bath. 

Think of how horrified we are when we read a story about a neglected child, a child left to sit in a dirty diaper for days at a time, or a child whose clothes are filthy or has never been given a bath. We balk at these stories because NO ONE should have to experience that. When that happens, the victim is being treated as less than a person.

I am a believer in the value of human life from conception until natural death, and I am also a believer that ALL human beings have dignity -- whether they have a physical disability, are in the womb, or have Alzheimer's. Although Bert might just be a little baby, a way that I can protect and honor his dignity as a human person is to change his diapers, bathe him, and give him clean clothes to wear. These things sound so mundane out of context, but when looked at through the lens of the value of Bert's personhood, those chores take on a level of holiness that transform how I think about them.

This topic reminds me of one of my favorite pictures of Mary and Jesus. It's called "Polish Madonna," and it depicts Mary hanging clothes to dry on a line while baby Jesus sits nearby.

Source.

We honor Mary and think of her sacrifice in carrying Jesus and watching him die on the cross. But for years, like every other mother, Mary spent so much time changing Jesus's diapers, washing his dirty clothes, and giving him a bath. She might have been the mother of God, but at heart, she was just a mother.

It's so easy for me to fall into the trap of asking myself what I really did all day. My friend Maggie has talked to me about finding that question hard to answer too because what she did all day was take care of a child. How do you begin to describe everything that is? How beautiful, lonely, joyous, boring, taxing, fun, and overwhelming that is? I'm going to try and reframe my answer in my mind now. Instead of telling myself "all" I did all day was change Bert's diapers and feed him and do laundry, I'm going to remind myself that what I actually did all day was honor Bert's dignity as a person, made in the image of God.

Three Years Later.

September 11 is of course an important day to remember in our nation. But it is also an important day in Joe and my life together because it was September 11, 2016 that we had our first date.

It was a Sunday, so I had gotten up and gone to church with my parents as usual. Later that day, I showered and got ready (wore a blue flowered dress and took a cardigan with me, naturally) and met Joe for lunch at 2 p.m. at Black Sheep Burrito in Huntington. (Old location for people who know what I'm talking about!) Joe was already there when I arrived, and we spent the next few hours sitting together talking, eating tacos, and drinking beer. We also went a for a really nice walk in Ritter Park.

The following year we commemorated our first date (although a couple days early since Joe lived in Georgia, and I still lived in West Virginia) by once again going to Black Sheep and sitting together talking, eating, and drinking beer.

Last year we were married, so for the first time we lived in the same place on September 11, so although we couldn't be at Black Sheep, the day once again found us sitting together talking, eating, and drinking our beer.

Yesterday as you know was September 11. This year was different, though. Although Joe and I were still sitting together and talking, it wasn't at Black Sheep or even at our house. 2 p.m. found us sitting side by side in a surgeon's office, our sweet Bert between us, listening to a doctor talk to us about another of Bert's health issues. In fact, the whole day went by yesterday without either of us acknowledging the anniversary of our first date.

Joe and I around the time of our first date.

On one hand, maybe that's a little bit sad. But on the other hand, isn't this what we're really all hoping for when we go on those first dates? Not to be in doctors' offices with our infants, of course, but I mean to even be sitting there together with a baby at all. Before we go on those first dates I think all -- or at least most -- of us are hoping that we will have finally found our person and that years down the road we may be too busy living our regular, everyday lives together to do more than smile for a moment when we arrive at the anniversary of that first hopeful date, if we even are able to take a moment to remember it at all.

Something else I thought about yesterday is how much life can change in such a short time. If you would have told me on my way to Black Sheep to meet Joe for that first date that we'd be sitting in the first home we bought together with our baby son just three short years later, I don't know if I would have believed you, but here we are. Three years ago I was Anna Lafferre, teaching at Fatima in Huntington, and living in my little apartment with Baby Snicks. Now, I am Anna Kraft, staying at home with my newborn son after teaching at Saint Jude for a year in Atlanta, living in my first home with my husband, son, and two dogs. Things really can change so very quickly.

Joe and I with newborn Bert, three years later. 

The beginning of a relationship is so exciting: getting to know someone, finding out how compatible you are, feeling that magic spark of something special. Those days are beautiful. But there is something magical, too, in the mundane day-to-dayness of life: paying your mortgage, buying the toothpaste, and talking about your worries and fears about a child. It was so fun at the beginning of our relationship when Joe would send me flowers or get me something he thought would help make my life easier. But I would trade all the flowers in the world for the Joe who changes Bert's diapers throughout the night, gets up and goes to work all day for our family, and changes his work schedule on a moment's notice to sit beside me at Bert's doctor appointment.

I once said to my friend Sarah about my friend Story that I felt like I owed Story so much for all she's done for me, but there was no way I could ever repay her. (Incidentally, Sarah, I owe you so much too for all you've done for me!) I made the comment that, "I mean, I keep showing up for Story's plays and things like that ..." And Sarah said those profound words that have continued to stick with me:

YOU KEEP SHOWING UP.

Amen, Sarah. Brilliant. That is how we show people we love them. Joe showed up to our first date fully engaged, never pulling out his phone or otherwise making me feel I wasn't worth his time. And I remember this, whether or not we were able to recall the anniversary of our first date this year. And Joe keeps showing up three years later. That's what real love is. Whether it's a romantic relationship or a friendship or a family relationship -- THAT'S WHAT REAL LOVE IS. You show up, and you keep showing up.

Grief ... It Just Is.

The son of a family member by marriage recently had his own son. We've never met the son or the new baby, but we love the grandmother, and we are so happy for her and her family. The new baby is about a month younger than Bert, and we've gotten to see a couple pictures of him.

A few days ago, Joe came home from work and, as we were talking, he suddenly told me he had a new photo that he wanted to show me. The photo was of the father of the new baby, shirtless and holding his new son skin-to-skin in the hospital.

Joe said, "I guess at this hospital they have the dads do that -- take off their shirts and hold the baby."

I couldn't respond. Because without me even realizing it or even any warning, I immediately started tearing up. I opened and closed my mouth a couple times, trying not to lose it, and Joe's face changed as he suddenly realized,

"... I was supposed to do that, wasn't I?"

I nodded.

"... But I couldn't because ..."

I nodded again. And the tears came.

As I wrote about here, there are a lot of things we didn't get to do with Bert when he was born because of his health issues. As I wrote about in that same post, I figured out that my post-partum healing would not be nearly as physical as it would be emotional and mental, coming to terms with what happened. Overall, I think I'm doing pretty well. But something I've also realized in all of this is that grief comes and goes in waves, it's not a straight line at all.

I think we usually associate grief with the death of a loved one, and, yes, that is such indescribably painful grief. But grief can also be associated with other things, such as when what you hoped, expected, or thought would happen in a situation turned out to be the complete opposite.

Some days I feel like I'm doing a good job of working through my grief, and other days some things will happen that just overwhelm me out of nowhere, such as the photo I just talked about or another health issue that Bert is dealing with. At his one-month appointment, Bert was diagnosed with an umbilical granuloma, which when treated, really is no big deal. The odds of getting it are 1 in 500, but as Joe said, if it's some crazy thing with crazy odds, Bert will get it. The granuloma was treated on Thursday, and we followed the instructions about giving it 24 hours, pulling the band aid off, and checking it. When I checked it Friday, I thought it still didn't look right, and it still had discharge coming from it. I called the nurse line at our pediatrician and left a message, and late Friday afternoon we got a call back that we'd need to take him to the Saturday sick clinic at one of our practice's other locations to be checked out and likely re-treated.

Like I said, this honestly is no big deal right now. But finding out that Bert had another health thing that required another "emergency" doctor's appointment hit me hard. It just took me right back to all the things that happened in the past five weeks of his life, and the overwhelming emotion this time wasn't sadness, it was anger. I told Joe I just feel so, so angry. I'm so angry about what happened to him, and that spiraled into me also being angry about what happened to Joe and me, angry about some things that went on in my own home after Bert was born, angry about something else that happened this summer that's unrelated to Bert's health but that I'm still dealing with, angry that I didn't stand up for myself in some situations like I should have. So right now, I'm angry. I'm angry, and I want a total do-over I won't get.

As I mentioned before, too, I know that life doesn't ever go according to plan, and I know that things could have turned out a lot worse. But I'm not sure in the history of time anyone ever felt better about their feelings after being told it "could have been worse." In reality, I'm pretty sure when someone is told that, all that happens is that they continue to feel their sad/angry/whatever feelings AND they now feel guilty for feeling those feelings, so now they just feel worse overall.

I am just trying to tell myself that grief is a process. Some days are great, some days you're taken right back to the thing or things that make you sad and angry. It's like this graphic that I've seen before:

Source.

Maybe it sounds like I'm whining or like I'm ungrateful for what I have. In reality, I am very grateful for Bert and all of the prayers for him and his current state of health. But, while my physical self is right on target for post-partum healing, my mental and emotional health is still a couple months behind. And you know what? THAT IS OKAY.

So if this is you right now, or past you, or maybe future you, please know that whatever you are feeling ... THAT IS OKAY. For as long as you need to feel it. I pray that you have someone to reach out to to talk to about it, and if not, I am happy to be that person because I understand. Talking about it has really helped me a lot. And if it happened to you five years ago and you still need to talk about it a lot ... THAT IS OKAY.

To be even more transparent, there is no happy ending to this right now. Right now, I'm in the middle of it, so it just is.

Here's a cute picture of Bert, though, because who doesn't love that? 

A Boy and His Dogs.

The last several posts have been (necessarily) serious, so I've decided to go with something a little lighter today.

We registered for some blocks for Bert. These blocks are plastic and of various shapes, sizes, and colors, so I thought -- great! These will be great first toys for our son. Earlier in the summer I was preparing for Bert by putting some of his things in different bins, and I pulled these blocks out of the plastic holder they came in. I BARELY squeezed one of them, and it let out the tiniest squeak. All of a sudden, Jane Austen came tearing down the stairs and ran right over to me. I realized she had heard this minute squeak from up under our bed (I had just seen her there), and then I realized something else: these blocks are basically dog toys.

Over the past couple of weeks, I realized that I wasn't wrong about those blocks, but I wasn't totally right either.

By that I mean ... ALL baby toys are essentially dog toys. So life is about to get really fun around here.

Think about it ... here is a picture of Bert's play mat thing. What do those toys hanging there look like?

Yep ... dog toys.

Here's an avocado that Bert's supposed to play with. What does that look like?

Yep ... a dog toy.

In fact, here is a photo of Jane Austen trying to share her favorite toy -- hedgehog -- with Bert. Because her toys are Bert's toys ... and more importantly, Bert's toys are her toys!

Clearly Bert is not playing with toys right now, but I can only assume that once he gets older and his toys are on the floor and Jane's toys are on the floor, well ... they will just be "their" toys then, won't they? 😂